


If the sun refused to shine, I would still be loving you.

by simg



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV) RPF, Scottish Actor RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Female Character of Color, Infidelity, Interracial Relationship, Loss of Parent(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2018-05-30 06:11:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 25,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6412192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simg/pseuds/simg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Title comes from "Thank You" by Led Zeppelin.</p></blockquote>





	1. It would still be you and me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from "Thank You" by Led Zeppelin.

She couldn’t remember a time when she didn’t love him, even when he hurt her, even when he had nothing to offer her beyond his body, his mind, and his time. He laid his head on her shoulder, shaggy and rufous, the color courtesy of a talented hairstylist and the length the result of his own neglect. She loved it. The soft waves were such a contrast to the kinky curls she was braiding at the moment.

“I’m sorry, Ophelia,” Sam said, hand reaching for hers. He’d come home from a meeting with his agent and the director of his television series, full of excitement and news, the next book of the Outlander series in hand.

Ophelia smiled sadly and deftly dodged his grasp, saying, “Don’t be, this is great for you.”

“I know you were looking forward to going away, it’s just the filming schedule is––“

“Hectic. I know, Sam. It’s okay, really.” She stepped away from him, standing in front of the mirror to finish the first of her two long braids. She could see his eyes in the mirror, bright with apology and regret and, if she wasn’t mistaken, a bit of relief. Ophelia saw the knit between her brows and knew she was doing a poor job of absolution.

“But it’s another series, we can get that house you’ve always wanted after this. Newton Mearns, be with the posh set, get old!” Sam waved his well-crafted hands excitedly, the long digits cutting through the air without any particular intent. “We’ll go to Tobago the minute we wrap. I’ll call your brother myself and apologize. Send me a postcard, hen?” Ophelia couldn’t resist his periwinkle eyes, had never been able to. They were the color of rumpled denim with his remorse, and her face softened in response.

“Don’t call Nigel, we both know that would be a mistake.” She laughed softly, thinking of her brother’s face when he’d announced he’d secured a “tricked out villa” for a week of bliss. He had been so proud of himself, organizing a special dinner to tell their Trinidadian mother she was going back to the twin island republic a so-called queen. “I don’t need a house, I’m happy right here… and I like that you thought you had a choice, I was going to drag you after wrap anyway. You won’t get to experience the ‘tricked out villa’, though, sucks for you.”

“You’re a brat, but you’re the best,” he murmured, looping an arm around her waist and tugging her to sit on his lap. She went easily, abandoning her half-done second braid to grab hold of his shoulder.

“I know. Don’t forget it.” His lips covered hers before she could respond and she laughed against him as one hand settled on her hip, the other on low on her thigh.

Sam declared, “We’ll get our own villa. More tricked out than Nigel’s.”

“Why is it always a competition with you guys?”

“Because I’m sleeping with his sister, which, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m trying to do right now,” he said, muttering the last bit. Ophelia felt Sam’s palm creep a bit higher on her thigh before glancing down, his hand pale on her darker skin.

Ophelia pouted, simultaneously moving to straddle him as she teased, “Aren’t you going to ask me about my day first? How rude. Here I thought I was the American.”

“I already know how your day went. You did some examinations, maybe cut a few people open, brought some new life into the world, perhaps… Thought of me, as always… then of bacon, which is, admittedly, almost as good.”

“Shush, Sam,” Ophelia murmured, taking possession of his mouth while untying her midnight blue satin robe.

Sam pushed the fabric from her shoulders, enjoying the cool slide of it as it passed to their bedroom floor. He took firm hold of her behind as she wriggled on his lap, pleased to find it still bare after her shower. Sam slipped a hand around to slide into the cleft between Ophelia’s legs, testing her wetness. He hiked her legs around his waist and turned quickly, laying her on the bed before she could catch her breath. She scooted up higher on the mattress before Sam caught her foot.

“I hope you ken that I love you, Lia,” Sam said, more of a declaration than a question, before sliding to his knees on the floor by the edge of the bed. She loved him this way. His warm Highland bur was always more apparent with lust. It reminded her of when they’d first met; he’d been a talented stage and sometimes television actor without much luck and she’d been entering medical school in New York. He was unsure of himself then, and he was a bit rough around the edges. Ophelia had fallen in love with his goodness, his endless enthusiasm, his passion for his craft, his beautiful blue eyes, and that soft bur.

Sam chuckled and asked, “Where did you go?” The soft puffs of air as he spoke against her overheated core brought her to attention and Ophelia’s chestnut eyes drifted back to his. She pushed her fingers through his hair as she focused.

“Hmm?” She became aware of the heavy mass of her now undone braid on her right shoulder and tried to recall his question.

“You left for a moment,” he replied before dragging his tongue over her, stopping to suckle her clit. Ophelia sighed contentedly, spreading her legs wider as he settled into a rhythm. Sam alternated between pushing his tongue into her and stroking her. He slid a long digit inside, pausing before adding another. Sam loved her little whimpers and sighs, the way she would moan outright when he hit that –- _ **that**_ –– spot. He grinned at her response to him, humming with pleasure against the wet smoothness of her.

“Baby, I need you,” Ophelia sighed, tugging gently on those silky red curls. “Please.”

He rose, climbing onto the bed and coming to rest between her legs. She grasped his cock, the heat of him searing her palm. His hips bucked involuntarily as she squeezed. “Ophelia St. James,” he panted, the claim in it audible if unintended. They belonged to each other like sunlight belonged to the day.

“Sam Heugh–” she gasped as he entered her in one rapid stroke. He stilled and cupped her face, searching her eyes for a moment before kissing her deeply. Ophelia’s legs locked high on his waist, her moan subsumed by the hollows of his mouth as she raised her hips. She dug her nails into his back to goad him into motion. She rolled her hips as he fucked her slowly, drawing their pleasure out. They were practically glued together but he managed to slide between them to feather his fingertips over her clit. Her whole body vibrated with the sensation, all of her focus on the point of light he was leading her to. She flexed around him and his rhythm stuttered. Sam got onto his knees, giving her a roguish grin before pulling her high on his thighs. There was no distance between them, the wiry brush of the hair between his legs abrading her clit as his thumb joined in. Ophelia thew her head to the side, shutting her eyes tightly against the current pulsing between them.

“Oh, no, you don’t. Look at me.” Sam grabbed her jaw, his touch gentle but forceful. Ophelia fixed him with her sloe-eyed gaze, her eyelids dropping as he thrust harder. “Focus,” Sam urged, pushing into her so deep they were one being. She felt the lump in her throat before her vision swam, and she shattered around him. Ophelia felt him pulse within her in response before she heard his growl, hot jets of him coating her walls as she spasmed reflexively.

“Lia,” he breathed, loath to break their connection as he turned them to lay on their sides. After a moment, he asked, “Still mad?”

“I was never mad,” Ophelia protested, pushing her hair off her shoulder.

Sam teased, “You were mad, hen. I know you.”

“Well, I was a little annoyed, but it’s your work. I’m going to get shit about being with ‘the white boy’ and moving here. ‘You moved for a man with no ring!’ I can hear my aunts already. At least it’s not ‘A man with no steady job, and you a doctor!’ this time.” Ophelia saw him flinch at the last remark, winced, and moved on quickly. “You were supposed to be my buffer. You were going to take the heat. I’ll just have to brag about you extra hard.”

“You always brag about me,” Sam remarked, grinning at her quick flash of side eye.

“Because I believe in you and I love you,” she replied, pushing hair off his face.

“I know ye do," he asserted, his accent thickening like molasses momentarily. "You know I’m doing this for us.”

“I want you to do it for you. This is the role of a lifetime, this is greatness. I truly am happy for you. This is your dream, you’ve waited so long. My family can wait a little longer.” She broke away from him, wincing as he slipped free of her. “I’m going to be frizzy in the morning,” Ophelia complained, restarting her second braid.

“Well, you’ll think of me if anyone comments, and you know you have the most beautiful hair.” She smiled despite herself, combing through the now tangled mass. “I love you. I love your hair. I love your understanding. I love your family, even if they may not love me.”

“Mom loves you, she’s who matters. Nigel will come around. I think he loves you anyway, in his own weird Nigel way.” Ophelia slid under the covers, suddenly feeling the chill in the room despite the high central heating. That was Glasgow in February.

“We're coming up on 12 years, hen. You know what, maybe I could come for a few days then go––” Sam began.

“It wouldn’t be worth the flight time, baby. Another time. We’ll do it right. You know how you get, you’ll need your rest and your ‘creative immersion’.”

“Hey, don’t laugh at my creative immersion!” Sam slid under the covers, pulling her close instinctively.

Ophelia suppressed a smile and burrowed closer to him. “I’m not laughing, I take it very seriously, which is why I don’t want to go to Tobago with Jamie Fraser. He’s a lovely man, but he’s not you.”

“Okay, Dr. St. James. We have had a long night––” he paused to wiggle his hips against her, “and I’m sure you’ll be delivering some wee beastie in the morning.”

Ophelia laughed and retorted, “No worse than you.” Sam chuckled in reply and waited to turn off the lights as she pulled on her satin cap.

“I love that thing,” he stated easily, making his way back to bed. The cap in question was a pink, floral, lace trimmed bonnet and she swatted at him as he reached for it.

“Go to bed, Samwise.”

Sam laughed, his chest vibrating under her ear as she cuddled close. “Goodnight, hen,” he whispered with a kiss to her forehead.


	2. Don't You (Forget About Me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Ophelia take leave of each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is the Simple Minds song.

Ophelia tucked a photo into the side pocket of Sam’s carryall, a veritable baby picture of them taken on New Year’s Eve 2006. He’d somehow convinced her to go to a bar off Times Square to indulge in the festivities. It had been the first year without Dick Clark hosting, and the air had practically hummed with nostalgia. Sam, foreigner that he was, imagined that they could get to their destination when she got off of her shift. At 9pm. They wound up 20 blocks away at a bar in Chelsea, his golden tongue winning their entry into the packed room. It had been nice to be the ones served drinks instead of the servers. Their glee at the prospect of being waited on, the anticipation of the new year, and the thrill of love that still felt newly minted shone on their faces. He’d brought a camera and so they’d made their memory. 

“I’ll miss you,” Ophelia commented easily, stepping away from the still empty well worn leather bag they’d gotten in Italy and towards Sam. A month had passed since Sam had received his new filming schedule and abstained from the St. James family trip. Today Ophelia was to fly from Glasgow to Barbados and on to Tobago where she would hopefully have some peace before her brother and his family arrived from New York. Her mother, Carmela, was due to arrive a few hours after Nigel. Ophelia was happy for the holiday, but couldn't quite shake her sadness over leaving.

He came close to hold her, her 5’3” frame engulfed in his embrace. “I’ll write every day,” Sam teased, squeezing her tighter even as he said the words.

“I’ll take FaceTime for $1000, Alex.” Her response died against him, muffled by the firm planes of his chest. “I don’t want to go without you,” Ophelia sighed, tipping her head back to search his eyes.

“I don’t want you to go either, but I also like living.” The rich timbre of Sam’s voice deepened as he chuckled at the mental image of being throttled by her brother or mother. They both shared Ophelia’s chestnut eyes, tawny skin, dusting of freckles, and small stature. He broke their eye contact and cast his eyes over to her baggage. “That’s everything then?” 

“That’s it. A week in paradise,” she remarked dryly, sliding her hands down to his toned bottom. His hands returned the favor, grasping the ample cushioning he found there and tugging her a fraction closer. Ophelia squeaked as Sam hoisted her up, her limbs looping around him automatically. 

“Do you think they’ll notice if you’re a couple minutes late?” He dragged his nose down the column of her neck, nipping at her playfully. Ophelia tightened her legs around his waist as she felt him begin to harden at her center. 

She laughed and replied, “I think they’ll notice if I miss my connecting flight. If I let you have your way with me – again – I’ll be late for the first one.” Sam pressed them together before letting her slide down his body. He groaned at the self-inflicted torture and kissed Ophelia lightly. She looked at him with an apology in her eyes before confirming, “You’ll be gone when I get back, huh?” 

“To Prague.” Sam hefted her bags out of the bedroom, moving down the hallway and through their impeccably appointed living room. He couldn’t take much credit for it. Their Clyde St. residence had been more than a compromise, it had been capitulation. She wanted to be close to work and close to action. The riverside location had reminded her of New York City. Price had been no object for her, and he couldn’t deny her wishes in good conscience. Not for his pride. “I’ll be home the weekend after you get back, then I’ll head out again,” he called back to her. 

Ophelia trailed him into the living room, enjoying the observation of the long lines of his body at work. “This is hard.” Sam startled at the proximity of her voice and turned to face her. 

“Harder than the first series?” He reached for her hand, petite in his but no less masterful. Sam took a good look at her. He savored the image, turning it over in his mind until it was memorized. Ophelia was bare faced; the freckles dusting the bridge of her nose were on full display. Her hair, thick and inky, was up in a braided bun. She was in her traditional travel outfit of obscenely priced but admittedly wonderful leggings, a t-shirt bearing the name of her undergrad alma mater, and her favorite long cardigan. He was simply waiting for her to slide on her loafers. The dip of her waist and the curve of her mouth were just as compelling to him as it had been years ago. In short, she was stunning. 

Wistfulness clouded Ophelia’s face as she squeezed Sam’s hand. “This is enough, right?”

The deepening hue of his blue eyes told Ophelia that he understood what she referred to. “Enough, hen? It’s everything.” 

Ophelia nodded and slipped into her shoes. She rose onto the balls of her feet, moving to rest her hands on his shoulders. They were broad and sturdy. Sam had packed on muscle for his most recent and most recognizable role, but to her, they’d always been this solid. His whiskered jawline was clean and sharp, his mouth softer in contrast. His stunningly blue eyes were deep-set. Ophelia touched her fingertips to his cheeks, and they were kissed by light moles and smooth skin. She brushed her mouth over his and stepped back. The black jumper Sam wore embraced his body lovingly and the jeans he’d yanked on clung to his lean hips. She watched him push his trainers on, tucking the shoelaces of the left impatiently. Ophelia was pulled from her reverie by the disengagement of the lock. 

She held his hand all the way to the airport. She didn’t know why every absence felt worst than the last.


	3. Well, I'm not leaving you here, I'm not leaving you here.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lia does some thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from "Bird of Sorrow" by Glen Hansard.

“Did you know he’s a bonafide Scotsman?” Her seat mate prattled on, oblivious to the fact that she was trying to sleep and yes, she did, in fact, know. “So sexy the way he just rescues his wife, he's always by her side.” The woman leaned across her extremely lucky, unconscious husband to say, “And I hear he’s single! Have you lived in Glasgow long? You have a chance!” She knew that. She also knew she should have flown business or first class. Sam Heughan had no wife, Jamie Fraser did. 

 

This was the part of Sam’s job Ophelia hated. She had no desire to blow up their life together and go public with their longstanding relationship, but sometimes it stung just a bit. In Scotland, they remained insulated from the madness. Thousands of women were holding out hope for anything ranging from a one night stand to marriage and babies with the man she’d called hers for over a decade. In fact, she was beginning to wonder when she’d be able to say it legally. They were bonded in every way that mattered, but there was something special about the act and practice of marriage. Interview after interview made her proud even as they taunted her. His rapid ascent made her grateful for all of the years they’d had before and glad that he hadn’t given up on his dreams. He’d been exceedingly supportive of her medical career, her long hours, longer in the early days, not deterring him. She could only do the same for him. 

 

They were halfway to Barbados by the time the woman gave up. Her seat mate managed to fit in six episodes of the show before knocking out with –– **_surprise_ ––** her mouth open. The flight itself was a wonder. The last time she and Sam had gone to Trinidad, they’d splurged on the experience and still had to make a stop in London. Opening her phone, she swiped through the old photos. He’d finally experienced Carnival in all of its glory. Labor Day in Brooklyn simply did not compare. There were selfies from the airport, selfies on Maracas Beach on Ash Wednesday, and most importantly, pictures from “de road” on j’ouvert morning. She never expected him to take to the celebration with such alacrity, but by the time they’d come home, it wasn’t clear who was Trini and who was Scots. They’d come back tan, happy, and even more in love. 

 

Ophelia studied her hands. They were essential to her work, essential to bringing pleasure, essential to making their home, and bare in essential ways. She kept waiting for him to ask, had waited for forever, it seemed. It was never the right time; he wanted solid work, she wanted him to feel ready, and they wanted a home base.

 

She had to say it day after day, and it was starting to take a toll on her: “Your age means this is considered a high risk pregnancy.” Their 35th birthdays loomed ahead. Ophelia was in her 8th year of medicine. Logically, she knew women were having children later and later without many, if any, complications; she’d handled the pregnancies of many such women. She’d specialized in obstetrics and gynecology, following her passion despite the debt it would incur. She’d finished paying off those debts right around the time they’d bought their flat. She was accomplished, she was beautiful, and she knew there was no one else for her. Sam was her home. He had been since he’d asked her for directions in the wrong borough. Ophelia grimaced. She hadn’t meant to do such heavy thinking in a tin can zooming through the air. Her seat mate had reached for her husband’s hand in her sleep, their rings glinting together in the watery light from the window. She wanted that. A slightly less chatty version of it, at least. 

 

Ophelia thought about a time she’d said “I do.” It was just after her father died. She hadn’t cried in the weeks following his death. She and Sam had been dating for just over 5 years, on and off. He'd moved three times in that period, and they'd somehow always come back together. She had finally been allowed to retreat from a long, frightening shift. Ophelia had ignored him for days, unwilling to speak and unable to focus. He’d been in a production and working odd hours, but he was determined to talk to her. He sat on her stoop until she came home. She’d brushed past him, nearly dropping her things in her haste to get inside.

 

“Sam, I’ve just worked 48 hours, we nearly lost 2 patients, we did lose a baby, and I haven’t eaten since yesterday.” She pushed into the foyer and went to her mailbox. She lived in a converted brownstone a few blocks from her hospital. She shared a 3 bedroom apartment with 2 girls, who she thankfully almost never saw. A perk of being a resident meant that she had no time to spend money on anything but rent in the most expensive city in the country. The mailbox was filled with what she was sure were condolence cards. 

 

“Ophelia,” Sam called, reaching for her as she opened her front door. He trailed after her into her empty apartment. 

 

“What, Sam?” Ophelia began to strip after putting her keys and files down on an end table. 

 

Sam huffed exasperatedly, “Do you always have to be so damn strong, Lia?” 

 

“I do, Sam. I do.” She was nude and ready for bed almost as much as she was ready for a shower and not ready for this conversation. 

 

He pulled her into his arms before she could protest. The coolness of the autumn night was plastered to his clothes and skin and pressing into her. “Ye don’t. I’m here.”  

 

Sam felt Ophelia shudder before he felt the warmth of her salty tears fall on his shirt. He held her tighter, trying to contain all of her pieces as she splintered apart. 

 

“He’s gone,” she whimpered. “He’s gone and no medicine can save him. He’s supposed to be here. He’s supposed to be with **_me_**.”  

 

A long period passed, then Ophelia’s weight settled in his arms as the trembling of her shoulders stopped. She cried in her sleep, the depth of her pain and loss holding onto her like a fiend. So Sam held on, too. He sat with her in his embrace all night, allowing her to cling to him and grieve. 

 

That night she’d learned she was never alone and Sam was the only man she’d ever want. 

 

_You don’t have to be so strong._

 

**_Yes, you do._ **


	4. Celebrate Me Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is by Kenny Loggins

“Well, hello, darling!” Sam’s radiant smile warmed her through the screen. He was clearly lounging in their bed. Ophelia was clad in a bright pink bikini, reclining on a cushioned deck chair. “You look beautiful. Let’s see the view.”

 

“You’re not looking bad yourself.” He was shirtless, the honed muscles he’d further developed for this role on full display. To say he didn’t look bad was an understatement. “I’ve spent the day in the sun." It showed. Her skin had already darkened to the color of ripe sapodilla. "It’s so stunning here. You would love it. How are you doing over there?”

 

“I’m doing alright, missing you.” Sam chuckled at Ophelia’s raised eyebrow. He put his script down, rolling onto his side. 

 

“You mean my cooking.” Ophelia took her hair down from its high ponytail, shaking the heavy cloud of curls onto her shoulders. Sam’s fingers twitched with the desire to touch her. 

 

“Guilty as charged.” He gave her a half smile. This was what they did. They downplayed the pain of absence, choosing to led it bleed into urgent touches, bruised hips, and jokes that weren’t all that funny. He’d missed her the minute she was out of sight. 

 

“There’s stuff in the freezer.” Ophelia took stock of his sheepish expression, a sneaking suspicion taking hold in her mind. “Sam, don’t tell me… Sam, did you eat all of it?” There had been a shepherd’s pie, a lasagna, a pelau, and 6 steaks when she’d left. She trusted him to handle vegetables. 

 

“Guilty again.”

 

“You’re wild! What are you going to eat the rest of the week?” Ophelia was already calculating, wondering what he'd do. 

 

“Takeaway. Salads. Raw veg and fruit.” Sam grinned at her furrowed brow. Her determination to caretake was one of the things he loved about her. It also worried him. It was easy to collapse under the weight of emotional labor. She would put everyone else above herself, if she weren't being watched closely. “Lia–– you’re on holiday, I’m a big boy. I’ll be alright, and when we’re together again, you can teach me how to cook.” 

 

“Okay,” she ceded reluctantly. “If you haven’t learned in all of the years we’ve been together, what makes you think you’re going to learn now, Samwise?” 

 

Sam’s laugh was deep and sincere, reverberating through his whole frame. Whenever he watched her cook, he was always distracted by the play of her hands and the beauty of her face in concentration. He never got to see her at work, and this was as close as he could get, beyond when she bandaged one of their collective nieces and nephews up. “It really does look gorgeous. You look gorgeous. Has Nigel come yet? And my favorite niece and nephew?”

 

“Not yet. Ni called from the airport, though, so he and Monica should be here very soon. And he wasn’t exaggerating, the place is tricked out.” The 7 bedroom, 8 1/2 bathroom villa sat on an acre of land, high enough to grant them views of the Mt. Irvine Golf Course and the Caribbean Sea. They were a 5 minute walk from the beach. Two more of her cousins would be bringing their spouses and children in a few days. The big house would be filled with music, love, and laughter before long. 

 

“Look at what I have.” Ophelia held up a copy of _Dragonfly in Amber_ , the second book of the Outlander series. “And my seat-mate on the way to Barbados could not get enough of you. She thought you were the most handsome thing. I was tempted to tell her to look at you at 4am after a night-shoot.”

 

Sam’s little fist pump of victory was adorable. “Huzzah! A fan!” 

 

“Did you just say ‘huzzah’ non-ironically?” Ophelia quirked an eyebrow before her mask fell and she found herself unable to hold back her laughter.

 

He teased, “I did. What are you going to do about it?” 

 

“Ugh, what can I do but cringe.” Sam was a dork, but he was her dork. 

 

“So do you like the book?”

 

“Like it? I love it. I love how strong their marriage is. I love the history. And I must confess, I have ** _such_** a crush on Murtagh.”

 

“ _Murtagh?!”_ Sam sounded personally affronted by the notion, pressing a hand to his chest. “When there’s a strapping Jamie Fraser about?”

 

“Come on, it can’t be all that rare, and Jamie Fraser isn’t all there is!”

 

“It’s pretty damn rare,” he sniffed, a smile creeping onto his face.  

 

“Don’t be jealous, I still love the actor playing Jamie Fraser. He’s a cute one.”

 

“I’ll be sure to let him know. Círdan just started the book as well.” Círdan was Sam’s brother. He’d recently moved back to Scotland from Manchester, choosing to settle in Glasgow. Sam had been enjoying spending more time with him, and once a week, schedules permitting, they made a trip to Edinburgh to see their parents. Once a month, Círdan brought his wife to their place or they visited and had dinner together.

 

“Should we start a club? Have tea and discuss the latest bit of trouble Jamie and Claire have gotten themselves into?” 

 

“You and Dan cause too much trouble together, so that’s a no from me.” Sam smiled at something she assumed was over her shoulder and she twisted her head. She saw a flash in her peripheral vision and surveyed her surroundings quickly. Her sneaky, and apparently swift, 3 year old nephew had hopped to her side. Lucas screamed, “Boo!” He dove onto her lap, making himself very comfortable as her book clattered to the floor. Sam had watched the proceedings from where her phone was perched above her head. 

 

“Luke, who told you to scare Auntie?” Sam’s voice was so clear it was almost as though he was beside them. 

 

“ME!” Shrieking was still the order of the day with him. It was nice to know some things remained the same about this boy. He’d grown taller, his height coming from some forebear or his mother’s side. His legs were long and lean, and the baby was being chiseled from his face, day by day. He had the St. James eyes, freckles, and hair. Where Lucas went, his older sister, Carmen, was sure to be nearby. Ophelia knew he’d missed her because he barely resisted her kisses. He’d been babbling away to his ‘Uncle Sam’, she still chuckled a bit at that one, the entire time she’d been studying him. 

 

“Auntie Ophelia!” Ophelia still sounded like “o-fee-ya” on Carmen’s lips. She had also inherited the St. James freckles and hair, the thick curls already trailing down her back. She had her mother’s hazel eyes. She could already see Lucas would likely be taller than her, despite Carmen being 2 years older. Carmen made room for herself on her aunt’s lap after giving her a quick hug. “Is that Uncle Sam?” Ophelia laughed and handed Carmen the phone, trusting her not to toss it into the pool as she shared it with her brother. 

 

Nigel came outside, wincing as he saw his sister swamped by his children. He was unchanged; lean, 5’7”, and dressed to the nines. Nigel was a hotshot sports attorney and dressed the part. He lowered his Ray-Bans to give his sister an apology. Their matching chestnut gazes locked as he made his way over. Nigel scooped Lucas up and sat down with him on his lap. Ophelia was glad the overworked chair was sturdy wood. Nigel leaned over to kiss Ophelia’s cheek.

 

He eyed the phone even as he asked, “How are you, sis?”

 

“I’m doing well. Happy to be here. Thank you for this.” She pulled him as close as she could with two children between them, breathing in and exhaling half of the tension she’d come with. Nigel had always been one of her rocks. Since their father died, that had only increased. “How was your flight? And where’s Monica?” 

 

“She wanted to hop in the shower before she saw you, but she should be down here in a second. Flight wasn’t bad at all, we got a direct and the kids slept right through. Hence all of the energy. Put Mummy on something similar, but she didn’t want to take off work, so she’ll be here later.” They both got their work ethic from her. 

 

Carmen had broken free to walk around the courtyard, away from the pool by her father’s silent directive, giving Sam a tour. Lucas had busied himself with a hanging plant. Interesting boy. 

 

“That was Sam?” He gave a curt nod in the direction of his daughter. 

 

Ophelia sighed, “You know that was Sam.” There had been tension between Nigel and Sam since the first time they’d broken up. Almost 10 years ago. It had escalated when she’d rejected a very nice position after residency to move to Glasgow with Sam. It escalated every day they weren’t married. “Ni, can you just accept that I love him? Can we enjoy this vacation together?” Nigel peered hard at her before he nodded. 

 

“I love **you** , and I want you happy. I’m excited to spend this time with you.” 

 

“I’m happy.” Ophelia reached for her toppled book as she said it, unable to look at Nigel. She had to be happy. She loved Sam. _Sometimes that isn’t enough._ She heard it in her father’s voice clear as day and managed not to startle. 

 

“Don’t kid a kidder, Kid,” Nigel warned, pushing off the chair to scoop Lucas up again before he could put more soil down his pants.


	5. Always In My Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Cait bond a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is by Coldplay.

Sam walked out of the table read feeling energized for the new season. He was looking forward to enjoying the peace and quiet of home for a while longer before he jumped back on the rollercoaster. As much as he enjoyed solitude, there was something to be said for a tranquil Ophelia nestled under his arm, reading some military history book. Sam missed the feel of her, though they spoke all of the time when either one of them was away. His footsteps lagged as he searched for his car, wishing he had Lia there to tell him exactly where he’d parked and tow him there. She was a pushy little woman, always had been, and he adored her. 

 

Sam sensed Caitriona’s presence before he saw her. He supposed months of shooting in the wilds of Scotland would do that to you. Her long dark hair whipped in the wind, her pellucid eyes shining in the light of the sodium lamps. Her fair skin had reddened in the minute she’d been exposed to the elements. 

 

“You’re alright?” It was half-question, half declaration. If she could will it, he would have been a happy man. 

 

“I’m fine, just a bit tired.” Table reads were never just table reads. They involved schmoozing with the execs who came to watch afterwards, and as a stage actor, he was never able to resist breathing a bit of life into the script’s emotional nuances. 

 

Caitriona smiled and laid a hand on his shoulder. She was a tall woman. He always forgot. It wasn’t the same bracing touch he craved, but he took it. 

 

“Come over, I’m cooking.” Sam was the light of the cast. He never failed to bring enthusiasm, passion, and energy to them all. Caitriona wasn’t used to seeing him without a smile on his face unless a scene precluded it. 

 

Sam perked up, his public countenance sliding back into place. He squinted his eyes at her and asked, “Will it kill me?” 

 

“Pasta. I promise.” She squeezed his shoulder and started walking towards her car. “Come by in two hours.” 

 

Sam muttered, “S’pose it’s better than the gym.” She was another pushy woman, she hadn’t stopped to hear a refusal.

 

He made it home in one piece, had a quick FaceTime session with Lia and Luke, dodged a call from his publicist, showered, dressed, and selected a bottle of wine to take with him to Cait’s. He thanked God for Lia’s insistence on always having extra, gift worthy bottles in the house. Sam turned up his collar against the cold and began walking towards the subway station. He loved his relative anonymity in Glasgow. Lia had been in the paper in Scotland more times than he had for taking on some daring medical case or procedure. _Outlander_ , coupled with the referendum, and certainly on different scales, had brought mountains of attention to Scotland. As was the Scottish way, he’d received no special treatment since the show had its UK premiere. He drifted to Caitriona’s front door, images of Lia flitting through his mind the whole way. 

 

Cait answered the door with a wide grin and flushed cheeks. He couldn’t tell if it was from the heat of the kitchen and her Irish coloring or if she was already in her cups. Sam decided it was definitely both as she took his coat and ushered him into the kitchen. She examined the bottle he presented her with, stating, “Well, I know for a fact this is very lovely, very expensive wine and that I won’t know the difference, but thank you so much. Who house trained you?”

 

“You’ve met Lia, haven’t you,” Sam replied wryly, taking the glass of wine she poured from her already opened bottle. 

 

“Briefly, but she’s trained you well, evidently.” Lia’s high-risk patient had gone into the labor the night they’d met, so she’d hurried away all too soon.

 

“Formidable,” Sam murmured, shaking his head as he settled onto a stool by the island.

 

“What was that?” 

 

“Formidable.” He looked up, finding Cait’s eyes, so different from Lia’s. “She’s a formidable woman.”

 

“I suppose her being half your size doesn’t diminish that.” She grinned into her glass, combining the sauce and pasta. 

 

“Not at all,” he replied, smiling to himself. Sam recalled a time they’d gone Munro bagging just after they’d moved in together in Glasgow. He’d fallen, fracturing his arm in the process. Without batting an eye, she set the bone as best she could, stabilized it, and took his pack. A jaunty “This is why we use the treadmill!” had been her only remark. He still couldn’t break the city girl out of her, but she had developed a healthy appreciation for the Munros, if only for sheer beauty and one-up purposes. He hadn’t noticed his pain until they’d made it back to their vehicle. Sam touched a hand to his mouth, surprised to find a beam firmly in place. 

 

“You really love her,” Cait announced as she plated their meals and carried them to her dining table. 

 

“I do.” He grabbed the wine and took a seat next to Cait, topping up their glasses. “Thanks for this. Lord, I miss her cooking. It’s a bit queer being there without her, ye ken?”

 

Cait teased, “You can’t be drunk already.”

 

“Why do you think I’m drunk?”

 

“You said ‘ken’.”

 

Sam laughed, deflecting by joking, “Ach, tis only when I get a wee bit sentimental.”   

 

“So where is she? Has she left you?” Cait was nothing but a straight shooter. Somehow the question wasn’t offensive to him. It must be the accent. 

 

“She’s Trinidadian, ye ken? So her brother secured them this fantastic villa in Tobago for a week, just for holiday, and her mum and some of her cousins are there. And her brother’s wife and children.”

 

“Why didn’t you go?” Cait’s lifted brow dared him to deflect again. 

 

“The schedule. In truth, not that this isn’t lovely, I wish I’d gone. Her brother puts me through the wringer because I’ve been a proper arse in the past when it comes to her, but I love him and the rest of the family. I just would have been Jamie Fraser half the time I was there, and that’s not who she signed up for, ye ken?”

 

“I ken.” Caitriona’s last relationship had dashed on the rocks with the new demands of her schedule as Claire Randall Fraser. She envied Sam and Lia, who she’d only met once and briefly, at that, for keeping things together. She hoped all the strain around Sam’s eyes didn’t relate to the relationship. 

 

“She’s –– well, she’s my lady. She’s **the** lady, and I know I disappointed her. I **_hate_** letting her down. I just haven’t been there for her as much as I want to be lately, and God knows she’s been patient.”

 

“But she’s a physician, right?” Sam nodded. “I got the impression you two have been together a long while, so I’m sure there were years where you had to take a backseat to her. Isn’t it part of the trade? Don’t listen to me, though, I’ve hardly ever had a successful relationship.”    

 

“Nearly twelve years now. I’ve only ever had to share her with her patients, it somehow seemed more noble.” He turned the description over in his mind, still unsure that he’d captured his sentiment.

 

“Well, I think your career is just as important as hers. They’re very different, but they’re both necessary, and I think such a formidable woman understands that. And she must understand you after a dozen years. Whatever your rough patch is, you’ll get through it. Now smile and eat up before it gets cold and you get drunk. How did you get here anyway?”

 

They killed the first bottle and made good headway into a second before Sam left. He was in the backseat of a cab, and try as he might to shut his thoughts down, Lia still danced through his mind. The sadness in her eyes when she asked him if they were enough, the fear in her touch as she gripped his hand on her way to the airport, and the wistfulness in her kiss all haunted him. He had moved through the day with an absent heart when he wasn't Jamie Fraser, the distances between them pulling him in a thousand directions. He felt his body in motion, saw himself strip as he walked deeper into the flat. He willed himself to sleep, still taunted by visions of Lia.


	6. My Favourite Faded Fantasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nigel has a surprise and Ophelia makes a confession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from the Damien Rice song/album

“Oh, Nigel, Daddy would have loved this.” Ophelia touched her brother’s shoulder as they looked out towards the sea. The sun was just setting, the golden orb fracturing into a thousand different hues over a turquoise sea. A chef had arrived to prepare them dinner, and with that, they’d finally managed to push their mother out of the kitchen. Her brother had informed them that this was a formal affair. Her backless, white midi dress fit her like a glove. Her thick curls had been brushed into some semblance of straightness and styled into a segmented ponytail. She wore the long gold earrings Nigel had given her upon her graduation from medical school. A slick of bronze lipstick completed her look. Nigel wore a light blue, green tinged well-tailored suit jacket she assumed was Brioni and a crisp white shirt and linen pants. The color of it reminded her of Sam’s eyes. 

 

“Don’t tell Mummy, but it’s ours.” Nigel kept his gaze fixed on the horizon, taking a sip from his glass. If she knew her brother, he was drinking single malt scotch. 

 

“It’s what?” Ophelia turned to her brother, her jaw slack. 

 

He grinned and replied, “It’s ours. I’m calling it ‘Palmiste House’.”

 

“You would give it a name, so bougie. But you bought this place, Ni? It’s massive.”

 

“I made managing partner. Youngest one in the history of the firm. I’m going to tell Mummy tonight. And tell her that this place is hers, whenever she wants it.”

 

“Whenever she’s tired of grinding for the Man, she gets a, what I’m sure was multimillion dollar, villa to retire in. Ugh, you always had to be the favorite child.” Ophelia hit him in the arm, muttering, “Overachiever.”

 

“You got Dad, I got Mummy, it’s only fair.” He wrapped an arm around his sister’s shoulders and kissed her forehead. “You and Sam are welcome here whenever.”

 

“You’re serious?”

 

“Why would I buy this place and not share it with my favorite sister?”

 

“I’m your only sister,” she retorted, taking a pull off his scotch. 

 

“Exactly.”

 

Monica, Nigel’s wife, came to stand beside them. Her skin was the color of brown jasper and her onyx-hued shoulder length hair was straightened. Her eyes were the color of topaz. Monica towered above Nigel in her wedges, the heel adding to her whopping six feet barefoot. She’d been rail thin for as long as Ophelia could remember. She wore a grey dress with a turquoise overlay. It was the first fitted style she’d donned since their arrival days earlier. Ophelia quickly saw why. The subtle curve of early pregnancy pressed against the fabric. 

 

“Are you both trying to kill Mummy tonight? You’re about 14 weeks, huh?” 

 

Monica startled at the accuracy, her beautiful eyes widening. “How’d you know?”

 

“Well, I know you, and it’s my job to know.” Ophelia grinned as Nigel pulled Monica closer, their hands intertwining. She tried to pretend that the pang in her chest wasn’t jealousy. Nigel fitted a hand over Monica’s burgeoning bump, and she wondered if she would ever experience that.  

 

“So, Doc, do you think it’s a boy or a girl?” Nigel asked, pivoting towards his sister again. 

 

“ ** _That_** I don’t know.” Ophelia gathered up the skirt of her dress and began to walk inside. She turned and remarked over her shoulder, “But from the way you’ve carried in the past, I would say you might be looking at another girl.” 

 

Nigel groaned, and Monica laughed loudly, knowing her husband was going to spoil the baby no matter what. It was just easier to pass down patriarchy lite than shield someone from it. They followed Ophelia inside, trailing her up the stone steps and through massive french doors. Nigel wandered off to talk to the chef and check on the children. 

 

“So… when can I tell Sam?” Sam was always happy to get another niece or nephew. He was almost like a kid himself whenever he got such news. 

 

“Nothing stopping you from doing it now,” Monica answered, sliding onto the couch next to her sister-in-law. “How is he, by the way?”

 

“He’s doing well. Shooting, you know.” Ophelia smiled, but it didn’t conceal the flash of sadness in her eyes. 

 

“I really love the show and so do all of my friends.” Most of Monica’s friends had known them both for a long time, and she wasn’t worried about either one of them saying anything to the press. “We’re all really happy that he’s got this break.” 

 

Ophelia smiled again, fiddling with the bangles around her wrist. “I am, too.”

 

“Are you really?” Monica’s quirked eyebrow told Ophelia that she wasn’t being a good actress. 

 

Ophelia sighed and replied, “Why does everyone think that I’m not happy for him?” 

 

“Maybe because you look sad when you say you are.” Monica crossed her arms and looked her up and down.

 

“The show isn’t the problem, okay?”

 

“So what’s the problem? How are you and Sam? Honest answer.” 

 

“Honestly, I’m getting tired of waiting for him to find the right moment to… start our lives.” 

 

“What have the last dozen years been? Hasn’t that been a life?”

 

“You know what I mean. It’s been a life, a beautiful, wonderful life, but I want more. It’s **_time_** for more. I love him, so, so much, so much that it hurts sometimes, and I am happy beyond measure at his success. There is no one who deserves it more.” 

 

“What do you mean by more?” Monica’s arms dropped as her face softened.

 

“I want to marry him, and I want him to ask. And I’ve wanted children with him forever, but it’s never the ‘right moment’. Isn’t real life the stuff that happens in the wrong moment?”

 

“Tell him that.” 

 

“It’s not that easy––” Ophelia ran a hand up her arm, bracelets jangling as she tried to expend nervous energy. 

 

“Well, I don’t know why you think you can marry him if you can’t tell him what you want.” Monica’s recrossed arms and side eye almost made Ophelia laugh. They would have, had the topic not been so serious. 

 

“I shouldn’t **_have_** to tell him, Monica. I’ve never given any indication of being anti-marriage, and we’ve been living like man and wife for years. Hell, we talked about getting married before I even finished medical school!” 

 

“Honey, he’s just a man. He's human, period. He’s not going to read your mind. And let him know that you two will make the right moment, it won’t necessarily just fall into your lap.” Her career as a designer had just begun taking off when she became pregnant with Carmen. It certainly wasn’t her five-year plan, but it had been reworked for the better.

 

“I was pregnant once,” Ophelia confessed quietly. 

 


	7. It's a Blind Kind of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyric comes from "Sweetest Thing" by U2.

“You were _what_?” Her fully open eyes accompanied the cry. Monica considered herself and Ophelia to be close, so this admission floored her.

 

“I was pregnant.” It was stated with such a lack of emotion, Monica felt her heart stutter. Ophelia could have been telling her the temperature. Monica reached for Ophelia’s hand.

 

“What happened?” 

 

“I–– I was going to have an abortion.”

 

“Did he know?”

 

“He never even knew I was pregnant. I’d just moved over to the UK. I had amazing job offers. And he’d just been in a production that closed. He was so worried about it.” Ophelia wrapped her arms around herself like she wished she had asked Sam to do at the time. “It was like he thought he’d never work again. And I couldn’t add to it. I couldn’t add to the stress. I miscarried and I didn’t say a word.”

 

Monica instinctively cradled her bump. “Do you ever think it might have brought him some joy?” 

 

“It would have brought grief. He wants to provide for his family. I’m never going to need to be provided for financially, just emotionally. And he’s not greedy, chauvinistic, or materialistic at all, he’s just not okay with letting me bear the weight. This _Outlander_ thing brought us to parity, we’re even past parity now, and it still hasn’t happened. I thought that was what the barrier was, but it’s not. Maybe he just doesn’t want to marry me at all.”  Her lips trembled and she pressed them together in a firm line. She managed to hold her tears back, and she was grateful she did, since her excited niece and nephew scampered into the room followed by their grandmother. They scampered out as quickly as they came.

 

Carmela’s serene smile pushed one onto Ophelia’s face as she and Monica sat up a little straighter. Carmela was a beautiful woman. Ophelia and Nigel had inherited their curls, which Nigel kept closely cropped, and their pert noses from her. They took their eye color from her, too, with their father being responsible for their large almond shape and long lashes. The same freckles that spanned her nose bridge dotted her mother’s. At 65, Carmela looked closer to 40 than Ophelia was willing to admit. Her hourglass figure had been retained and made rubenesque through the bearing and raising of her two children. And she had **_style_. **

 

Her midnight blue jumpsuit and gold accessories were timeless. Though she’d grown accustomed to seeing such beauty over her lifetime and reacclimatized to it over the last couple of days, sometimes Ophelia was struck by just how stunning her mother was and how she had the personality to match. 

 

“I want to be you when I grow up, Mummy,” Ophelia declared, taking Carmela’s hand as she lowered herself onto the sectional she and Monica occupied.  

 

Carmela chuckled and kissed her cheek. “You’ll be you, and that’s even more special.” 

 

“Dinner is ready!” Nigel had flung the doors wide open and the aromas of the finished meal crept in to greet them. It smelled like home.

 

“If you all wanted pelau, you didn’t have to pay someone,” Carmela whispered to Monica. Monica laughed, used to humoring her husband and his grandiose plans.

 

“Let’s go, Carmi.” Monica rose with a bit of difficulty. “You know how Nigel gets when we get in the way of his plans.”

 

Ophelia didn’t miss her mother’s raised eyebrow or the drifting of her eyes over Monica’s body. Carmela’s quick smirk and squeeze of her daughter’s hand said it all. 

 

They sauntered into the kitchen, mostly to annoy Nigel, and found a spread fit for kings. Every traditional dish they liked was there and the chef had put his own spin on them all. He explained every dish, and by the end of it, Luke was bouncing and even Carmela was giving her excited thanks. Before they sat down, Carmela had figured out the chef’s origins and noted that she’d gone to school with his mother in San Fernando. They planned a Skype call before Carmela returned to Brooklyn. Their cousins, Perla and Daniel, and their small families met them at the table. Ophelia and Perla were of an age, and Perla already had three children, ranging from eleven years old to two years old, one of which had stayed at home for this trip. Daniel was four years older than her and had two preteen children, who had joined them in Tobago. Growing up, Nigel and Ophelia had come home to Trinidad every summer and were extremely close with these cousins as a result. 

 

Halfway through the dinner, Nigel tapped his glass to gather everyone’s attention. Ophelia mouthed “Drama queen” at him and crossed her eyes. Nigel was certainly something. When he reached for Monica’s hand, Ophelia knew which announcement was coming first.

 

“Monica and I would like to tell you that we are having another baby to terrorize you all. We’ll accept your well-wishes and thanks in advance.” 

 

Daniel shouted, “Put it away!” His exclamation was met with hysterics, the babies unsure what they were laughing at but in the joke nonetheless. Congratulations went around the table, and Ophelia felt her heart swell with love for these special people. Nigel and Monica thanked them all while Carmen chanted, “I’m going to have a little sister!”

 

“A sister, Carmen?” Ophelia asked. “Why do you think it’s a girl?”

 

Carmen rolled her eyes and cocked her head at her mother's bump, “She told me so.” 

 

Nigel chuckled and pulled a face at her before turning to his mother. 

 

“Mummy…” Nigel cleared his throat as Carmela looked up at him. “Mummy, you know you mean the world to me, and everything I’ve done, you’ve had a hand in. I would not be who I am without you or your love or your example. I am the youngest managing partner in the history of my firm because of you bashing through whatever stood in the way of my potential. Be those barriers financial or emotional, you’ve pulled me through them. Thank God I found a helpmate, a soulmate, in Monica because I know it was getting tiring. I could draw this out, but I know everyone wants to get back to their delicious food. Anyway, I hope you’ve been enjoying this much-deserved holiday in your beautiful home. I love you so much, Mummy.” He kissed her cheek and sat down and waited for her to absorb his words.

 

Everyone witnessed the moment they made impact. Carmela plopped her glass down on the table and her eyes widened. “Nigel, what did you just say?”

 

“Oh, I said that I love you.”

 

She snapped, “Not that part!” 

 

“But you always said that was the most important––”

 

“Boy,” Carmela yelled, much to everyone’s amusement. 

 

“Ohhhh, the part about this being your house?” Nigel grinned, his father’s wicked grin by no coincidence, as Carmela welled up.

 

“Ni… this place… it’s too much.” She touched her hand to her mouth in a gesture that reminded Ophelia of Sam. 

 

“Nothing is too much for you, Mummy. This is yours. You own this free and clear. You have **earned** this. You soldiered on when Daddy died, but you’ve always been fighting for us. You can relax now. Now it’s our turn.” Nigel patted Carmela’s back when she flung her arms around him, her tears falling on his shoulder. She released him after a long moment, pressing a kiss to Ophelia’s cheek after embracing her tightly. She rose to give Monica a lingering hug. 

 

“I don’t know what to say,” Carmela said, wiping her eyes.

 

“Say you’ll enjoy this place.”

 

“I will.” She smiled, though her beautiful eyes were still reddened and moist. “Thank you.” 

 

This was family. Someday she wanted to have her own children sit at this table. Hopefully those children would be Sam’s, too. It had never been a question before.


	8. First Day of My Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A late-night visit from a friend, and Sam gets sentimental again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is by Bright Eyes

Sam dodged a horse being led off set, tripping a bit on a cobblestone in the Prague street they’d just finished shooting on. Caitriona pressed a hand to her mouth and failed to suppress her giggle. He shot a look at her, daring her to laugh louder. Ophelia had arrived in Glasgow last night, happier than he’d heard her in a while. The getaway had been much deserved.

“Sam, are you coming out with us tonight,” Caitriona asked, reaching for his shoulder.

He shook his head and turned to peer down at her. “I think I’ll run some lines, call Lia, and head to sleep. You all will be steaming before the night’s out, and I need my beauty rest.” He began to head towards his trailer, pulling at his cravat and waistcoat as he went. Terry was fastidious with her period costumes, so he was careful not to tug too hard.

“Ah, you’re no fun,” she griped good-naturedly. “Robert, Andrew, and Rosie will be there. You should come, if you change your mind, old man.” She followed him into his trailer, making herself comfortable on his daybed.

“You’re still here?” Sam arched his eyebrows at her position and shrugged. He hauled his shirt off and pulled on a David Bowie tee. This was a day he didn’t have any prosthetic scars to take off. One of his earliest dates with Ophelia had been seeing David Bowie on A Reality Tour. He remembered them driving to Atlantic City on a whim and praying for tickets. Though Ophelia insisted he was wrong, he was still under the impression Bruce Springsteen had passed them on a motorcycle while on Route 35. A smile fluttered on his lips as he remembered to reply to Cait, saying, “I’ll take old over wankered, thanks! Now if ye don’t mind, I’d like to remove my breeks.”

Cait rose with a dramatic sigh and angled herself, and her wide skirt, through the doorway.

“Amazed you fit that thing in here. Off with ye.” Sam beamed at her before shutting the trailer door. The trailer was devoid of personal items besides a framed photo of his entire family, Ophelia included, taken at his nephew’s baptism. He rang Lia as he was changing into his jeans.

“This is unexpected,” Ophelia trilled. “How are you, baby?” Her voice vibrated with a pleasure he’d missed. He vowed then and there to do everything he could to keep that joy there. He knew on a day where there was nothing to do, Ophelia stuck close to bed. It was something he’d used in his favor more than once and wished he could at that moment.

“Ach, I’m a wee bit tired, but I’m chuffed to hear your voice.” Sam could almost hear her smiling, and it elicited a cascade of warmth.

“I’m glad to hear yours, too. You’re sounding mighty Scots this evening. Jamie got you in the mood?”

“No… just hearing you makes me think of home.” He felt the truth of the statement resound.

Ophelia melted, putting the medical journal she was reading aside in favor of his pillow. “Oh, baby… Are you feeling homesick?”

“Always.” Sam lowered himself onto the daybed, cocking his still bare feet up and covering his eyes. “Always, Lia.”

“You’ll be home in a flash. And I’ll be right here, Sam.” There was a promise in her voice, a resolve that hadn’t been there before. It made Sam’s breath catch. He wasn’t a fool. He knew he was losing her.

“Don’t give up on me yet,” he breathed, unaware he’d said it out loud until he heard her intake of breath.

“Give up on you?” Lia sank into the headboard, wrapping her arm entirely around his pillow.

“Don’t give up on me. You keep me sincere.”

“Sam?” Ophelia could hear the fear in his voice, and it made her momentarily dizzy.

A knock reverberated on Sam’s trailer door that Ophelia heard all the way in Glasgow.

“Lia? I have to go.” He pressed two fingers to his mouth, muffling his sigh. “Please don’t give up on me. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

…

The knock on the adjoining door stirred Sam from his sleep. It had taken him over before he’d even reached the bed. His script had fallen to the floor and his fifth glass of whisky stood unfinished on the coffee table. He shook his head and pushed his fingers through his hair. Rising a bit unsteadily, he made his way to the door. Sam opened it to find a tipsy Caitriona leaning against the doorframe in what he assumed she was hoping was a casual stance.

“Cait?” He laughed at her slitted eyes and took the bottle of wine she held in her hand. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m Irish,” she replied matter-of-factly, blinking hard. Her pale eyes were shining with drink and he reached out to steady her as she stepped forward.

“I think you’re heading in the wrong direction, you should go on to bed.” Sam chuckled at her indignant expression.

“I don’t have to shoot tomorrow,” Cait pouted before pushing past him and taking his old place on the couch.

Sam retorted, “Well, I do.” He sat at the other end of the couch and turned towards her.

“I brought wine!” She slammed the bottle down with a proud grin like a child bringing home a good report.

“So I see. I’ve had a wee dram already.” Sam gently slid the bottle away from both of them.

Cait’s face grew suddenly serious in that way the inebriated tend to do. “Are you still sad?”

“Sad? I’m not sad.” He chuckled, touching a hand to his mouth.

“You were sad. Your girlfriend.”

“I think… I think we’re starting over. When I get back to Scotland, I want to ask her to marry me.” He hadn’t made the decision consciously, but the moment he said it, he knew it was his truth.

“Marriage?” Her brows quirked and she whistled softly. “That’s big.”

“She’s always been the only woman I could see myself marrying.” He laughed, shaking his head at his younger self. “Right from the start and it terrified me. Absolutely petrified me.”

“How did you meet?” She’d somehow managed to get hold of the bottle again, tilting it to her mouth. He didn’t care. He was off.

“Well, I was lost, and she looked a lot friendlier than everyone else. She has these eyes… they sort of glow, do ye know what I mean?” Cait frowned and shifted, clearly not catching his meaning. “Like in the dark, they just called to me. I could tell she was tired, but she smiled at me, and I know I looked a state, probably smelled a fright, too, and I forgot my question.”

“What happened then?”

“Well, I stared at her, and she asked me if I was lost. She had all of this beautiful hair. She used to wear it straight then, it was past her waist.” Sam stood, wobbling a bit before he steadied himself on the arm of the couch. He walked into the bedroom of the suite, retrieving something he'd found in his carryall that morning. Caitriona opened her eyes again when she felt his weight unsettle the couch. Sam was holding out a photo of a far younger and far thinner him and a beautiful Ophelia, straight hair and all, locked in a tight embrace. They looked at each other like the world began and ended with them. Her eyes were quite captivating, Cait conceded. “That was our first New Year’s officially together. We’ve broken up a few times, but we haven’t spent one apart since. The next time, we went to Edinburgh for Hogmanay. She met my entire family and handled it masterfully. But when we met… I don’t know how familiar you are with New York City, but I asked for Mercer St and I was in Brooklyn Heights. And she did me a kindness.”

Cait’s rapt expression urged him to go on, and he took the bottle of wine from her, taking a healthy swig.

“She rode with me all the way to Mercer St and walked me where I needed to be. A friend had got me a bartending gig and a place to sleep. So we got there, I thanked her, and I realized I didn’t know her name. And I had told this woman everything about myself in the 25 minute train ride and the walk. She talked to me about her dreams. And I knew I wanted to be a part of them. Her laugh, her wit, her eyes… she got under my skin." He chuckled at the memory, amazed by his youthful foolhardiness. "So I ran back outside, and I couldn't find her anywhere. Then I saw her and she was looking right at me, it was like she was waiting for me there. Like every cliche known to man, and I said to myself, 'Well, Sam, failing means you're playing.' I had nothing going for me, but I asked her name, and it was like waking up, like all my life had been a haze till then. I wore her down till she loved me, too.”


	9. Getting Away With It All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is by James.

“I’ve never had that,” Cait remarked softly. “Not in my life.”

 

“I hope someday you do. I think it happens when you meet a soul mate, it can be a friend or a lover. You’ll get it. You’re too good not to. I feel like every time we’ve spoken lately, I’ve been whining. I’m sorry for taking advantage of your ear.”

 

“Hey, you’re one of my best friends, my ear is yours to abuse,” she jested, taking the bottle bag and taking a long drink. “I don’t think you know what to be without her. I can’t tell if that is good or bad.”

 

“It simply is, my dear.” He moved to the other room to put the picture back in its place. Sam came back and held his hand out for the bottle. “Tell me about the last one. What was his name? David? Daniel?”

 

“Donald,” Caitriona laughed. “Donald had no balls. He couldn’t stand that we did sex scenes.”

 

“They’re the least sensual thing on the planet, he had nothing to be worried about.” Sam’s laughed echoed as he thought back to the last sex scene they’d filmed together. 

 

“What are you laughing at, don’t you think I’m sexy?” Cait teased, wiggling closer in faux-flirtation. They passed the bottle between them again.

 

“You’re a beautiful woman, Cait, but you’re no match for the 20 burly men on our set.” 

 

“They are a major turn-off, aren’t they?” Her nose scrunched adorably as she found herself back on set mentally.

 

“All I can think of is me dad.” Sam touched a hand to his mouth, or aimed for it at least, grimacing in memory.

 

“When my breasts are in your face,” she exclaimed, managing to sound much-aggrieved. 

 

“‘Sam, you better not be out there with a sheep!’ That’s all I can think of!” He roared with laughter at the memory of his father catching him out in the fields at night with his first and last girlfriend in Balmaclellan. “I hardly––” he gasped, “I hardly got up to anything!” 

 

Mirth brightened and narrowed Caitriona’s eyes as she collapsed against Sam. The laughter petered out, and Sam rested his head on top of hers. Cait tilted her head up just as Sam turned to speak to her. Their lips touched. There was an instant of complete stillness. Then Cait reached for Sam’s face as she breathed into the kiss. It wasn’t like they’d never done it before, but this was something completely different. 

 

The kiss began cautious and gentle, simply testing the waters before Sam deepened it, his tongue delving into her mouth. Cait moaned, moving her hands to his broad shoulders and shifting onto his lap. Sam’s hands moved naturally to her waist, holding her flush against him. She felt his growing erection pressed tight to her core. Sam groaned as she began to undulate against him, their tongues vying for dominance. They separated momentarily to strip their top halves. Sam sat shirtless in thin sleep pants, while Caitriona’s dress had fallen to the floor to reveal delicate black lace lingerie. It was striking against her alabaster skin.

 

Caitriona realized she didn’t really know what he looked like without his prosthetic scars when his shirt was off. She ran her hands over his mostly smooth chest, long fingers sifting through the hair between his pectorals. He reached for her hips, pressing her down as she kissed her way around his jawline and down the side of his neck. She released her dark hair from its ponytail, the long waves sweeping over his chest, and he released the clasp of her bra. Sam twisted to lay her down. It startled her, eliciting a giggle. She wiggled out of her bra, tossing it onto a nearby armchair. He took her ankle in hand, propping it on his shoulder as his hands moved to the waistband of her panties.

 

Once they were discarded, Caitriona reached between them, pushing his pants out of the way to hold the solid bar of his arousal. He gasped at the sensation and bent forward to take one of her nipples into his mouth. Sam performed some kind of magic on both breasts that had Caitriona moaning his name. When he began to trail kisses down her stomach, she pulled him up, kissing him deeply. Wordlessly, she impaled herself on him. The only sound from both of them was a strangled breath. Sam moved slowly, gradually picking up pace. He ran away from his sin, from his betrayal –– his self-loathing and disappointment expressed in the pistoning of his hips. He drove them hard to a draining orgasm, hating the moment his common sense rushed back in. He withdrew from her, already sick inside and feeling stone-cold sober. 

 

“Why did we do that,” Sam asked no one in particular. “Why did I just do that?” The shock widened his blue green eyes.  

 

“I should go.” She wouldn’t meet his eye as she reached for the box of tissues on the end table. 

 

He agreed numbly, “You should go.”

 

“I’m going to go now.” She reached for him unconsciously, wincing when he flinched. “I’m so sorry, Sam.” 

 

“I did it, too. I’m at fault,” he replied, finally rising steadily and handing Cait her clothes wordlessly. “Caitriona…”

 

“Yes?”

 

“You’re… you’re on something, right?”

 

She blinked at him before sudden comprehension dawned. “Oh! Oh, yes. You don’t… you don’t have to worry about that. It will be like nothing ever happened. Nothing ever happened. Oh God,” she stammered. Cait didn’t even dress before she barreled through the adjoining door, locking it tight against what she’d done.   

 

When Sam heard the snick of the lock, he darted to the bathroom, where he proceeded to be sick. He sobbed for all he’d likely just ruined. There was no one to blame but him. He turned Caitriona's words over in his mind again.  _I don’t think you know what to be without her. I can’t tell if that is good or bad._

 

Ophelia’d had vicious fights with her father over his infidelity up until he died. Her father had been the real love of her life, and his flaws saddened her to her core. She’d confessed them to Sam once she felt he wasn’t going to jump ship, about a year into their relationship. 

 

 _“There’s one thing I could never, ever take, and that’s why. I would be destroyed if you cheated on me. You can lie to me, leave me, hate me, but please, please never cheat on me.”_ She’d looked up at him with those earnest chestnut eyes, and he’d agreed. Why would he ever cheat on the woman who taught him what it was to live? 

 

The shame made him heave till near sunrise, nothing coming up. The guilt rested like a weight in his stomach. He could never tell her. He couldn’t destroy her, but it might very well destroy him.


	10. Beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam takes a big step and comes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is by Meshell Ndegeocello.

On a rainy off day in Prague, the ring chose him. Its band was yellow gold filigree, with small white diamonds placed in intricately carved leaves closer to the center stone. The basket itself was lined with pave white diamonds. 4 shining prongs held up a flawless 3 carat cushion-cut colorless diamond. Sam was taken to view it in a back room, and he fell in love with the thought of seeing it on Ophelia’s hand. It was crafted by a master jeweler, who emerged from his workshop to shake his hand. He left the store £63,000 lighter. He could only hope it would mean a brand new start for them both. 

 

It had been decided that no one would ever be told about his and Caitriona’s mistake. He recalled the conversation they’d had the morning after, both remorseful and hungover to boot.

 

_"I can't tell Lia,” Sam declared. “But I have to tell Lia.”_

 

_Cait sighed and asked, ”How are we going to play this? You just said two things.”_

 

_"We don't ‘play it’. I tell her."_

 

_"Sam, is she the kind of woman that can go on knowing about something like this?"_

 

_"She's not.” He knew he would be signing his own death warrant if he told her. He would likely never see her again once he did._

 

_"So why would you tell her? It was a mistake, a stupid, drunken mistake. And a mistake shouldn't delete a dozen years."_

 

 After a moment of awkwardness, they’d been able to take up where they’d left off. Luckily the beginning of the season called for a bit of estrangement, allowing them both time to rebuild the wall that had been breached. There were no extra touches, no more late nights, and a minimum of trailer visits. When they went out, it was with other cast and crew members. Sam was hoping that going home to Ophelia, touching her and breathing her in, would rehabilitate him fully. What had happened shook him to his core. Ophelia was the only person who could pull him back to himself. He felt awful about using her to make himself feel better, but he knew he had to. 

 

Sam flew home to Scotland the morning after a grueling night shoot, a day earlier than planned. He knew her schedule better than he knew his own, and knew she would still be asleep on a Friday morning. He was surprised when she emerged moments after he’d locked the door behind him. He’d thrown down his carryall and propped his suitcase against the wall, and taken a deep breath, happy to be home. 

 

She padded in silently, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She blinked hard at him as though he was an apparition. She was wearing one of his Fight Camp shirts, the hem coming down nearly to her knees, and her hair had taken on a cloud like appearance that meant she hadn’t covered it for the night. He didn’t know how or why, but seeing her standing there was like seeing her for the first time all over again.

 

“Sam?” Her voice was small and tentative, like she was daring to hope he was real.

 

“I’m home, baby.” He shrugged his jacket off, tossing it over the back of the couch. He knew she missed him because she didn’t even gripe. He took her into his arms and claimed her mouth. He stilled and broke the kiss to cup her face, running his thumbs over her cheeks. “You’re so beautiful, Lia. So smart and stunning and perfect and bonnie beyond measure and the perfect woman for me.”

 

Ophelia gazed up at him with a funny little smile on her lips, completely enraptured by the heat in his blue eyes. She kissed him again, their stares still locked. He dotted butterfly kisses across her face, nuzzling her nose and the space beneath the corners of her jaw, before coming back to take possession of her mouth. She smiled against him, raising her arms to his shoulders before letting them collapse around his neck. Sam hoisted her up, her surprised laugh warming him through and through. She loved how she felt in his arms, weightless and secure. She was a solid woman, but she always felt safe, supported by his unfailing strength. 

 

She pushed her hands through his titian hair, cradling his head, and pressed the soft tip of her nose against his. “Missed you, missed you so much,” she murmured, the words rushing from her as though she had no breath left. 

 

Sam kicked off his shoes as an afterthought and began to walk them back towards their master bathroom. He felt like a righted vessel as she stripped him slowly, savoring the feel of him under her palms. When she took him inside of her, he was home. Their lovemaking was as gentle as it was intense. He took her on the counter, then in the shower, and finally in bed, where they remained for the rest of the day except for food and facilities breaks. 

 

Sam rolled languidly towards Ophelia the next morning, taking her left hand in his right. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles, studying her as she slept. He saw the ring on her hand as clear as day, in his mind's eye. Releasing her hand, he slid his palm up her flank and leaned in to press a kiss to the juncture where neck met shoulder. Ophelia giggled in her sleep, swatting at him reflexively. 

 

She murmured, “Let me sleep, Samwise.”

 

“If you wake up, there’s a reward in it,” Sam taunted, continuing to pepper her exposed flesh with kisses. 

 

She opened one eye momentarily and threw her arm back over her eyes dramatically. He took the opportunity to take a dark, pert nipple into his mouth.

 

“Sam,” she gasped, pressing his head to her and arching forward. “Oh, God, I can’t––” 

 

“Shh, I’ve got you, shh” he urged, moving to give her the pleasure she’d been missing out on while he was gone. 

 

They managed to be showered and dressed two hours after their gratifying start to the morning. Ophelia had planned to go to the Barras that morning to get ingredients for Sam’s favorite dinner. She’d expected to have dinner waiting for his expected arrival that day, but he had surprised her, and she certainly wasn’t complaining. Sam followed her closely, his massive hands on her hips until they were full of bags. She’d pushed them to more acceptable positions and attempted to hold his hand, but they always found her lush hips again. Ophelia teased him about his sudden possessiveness on the way home. 

 

“You’re a right pin-up girl, how am I supposed to keep my hands to myself?” His signature grin had been firmly in place all morning, the one that drew the tip of his nose down a bit and revealed the vein in his forehead. She wore UK 14 bottoms and UK 8 tops, her little waist accounting for the disparity. 

 

“A pin-up girl with a big ass,” she countered, laughing as he swatted said-behind. 

 

“And a fine arse it is.” He waited for her to open the door, butting his hips against her as she did. 

 

“Behave yourself, Heughan.” She chastised him, but the laughter underneath it couldn’t be hidden. She looked over her shoulder at him as he lagged behind on their walk up to the top floor. 

 

“Just enjoying the view,” Sam stated, whistling jauntily.  

 

“You’re a mess.” Ophelia unlocked their front door and disappeared into the apartment. He followed momentarily and began to unload the bags. “I love you,” she said, sliding between him and the kitchen counter to kiss him deeply. The bag of rosemary sprigs he held fell to the counter as he reached for her hips, able to get the firm grip he really wanted now they were in private. She lifted a leg to wrap around him, moving restlessly. He dragged his mouth away from her breathlessly, raising one hand to let her hair down. 

 

“I love you, too, hen. You know you’ll be cross if your things go off, so I suggest we put them away, and the minute that’s done, strip.”

 

“Yes, sir,” she responded, the tease sounding more like seduction than jest. She ran a finger down his chest, her lower lip caught in between her teeth unintentionally, and proved him right.  

 

They raced to pack everything away and rushed to the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothing in their wake.


	11. All I Want Is You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FLUFF

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is by U2.

Sam had packed her into the car, ignoring her protestations about starting dinner. She sat blindfolded in his Jaguar, wondering what the hell he was up to. She could tell they’d gotten on the motorway. About 15 minutes into the drive, she felt them exit the motorway.

 

Ophelia whined, “Can I take my blindfold off now?” 

 

“Nae,” he laughed at her impatience, “just sit there and be gorgeous for a few more minutes.” Her huff of annoyance widened his grin. Ophelia perked up when she felt the car slow, moving her head to look around and frowning when she couldn’t see. Sam laughed even harder. 

 

“We’re here, my love,” he announced, and she reached eagerly for her blindfold. “Let me at least get you out of the car first.”

 

“Fine,” she retorted, crossing her arms across her chest as she heard the driver’s door slam. She felt the rush of cool air as he opened her door and shivered a bit. Sam took her hand and helped her out of the vehicle. She felt like she could **hear** him smiling as he stood behind her to remove her blindfold. He held her close, his front plastered to her back as he waited for her eyes to adjust. “Sam, you didn’t,” Ophelia gasped, craning her neck to look at him. 

 

“Well, not yet, but the owners said they would be willing to do an easy, private sale, if we wanted it.” They were standing in front of her dream home. It was a pristine farmhouse situated on 18 acres of land. There were outbuildings, including a guest cottage and greenhouse. Portions of the land overlooked a burn and reservoir. Sam had the keys and gave her the grand tour, and she could tell he’d tried hard to memorize his lines. There was a beautiful indoor swimming pool and spa. The stunning farmhouse kitchen, complete with breakfast nook, was massive and she could see herself cooking in it for the rest of her life. Sam toured her through the master bedroom, immense walk-in closet, and ensuite, and she was amazed at the level of free rein he was given. There were 3 more bedrooms, roomy closets available for conversion into bedrooms, a recreation room, a cozy family room, a more formal living room, a dining room big enough for both of their families, a sunroom, a study, and 3 more bathrooms. Her favorite room was the one across the hall from the master. When they’d come to it, Sam had said, “I was thinking this one could be a nursery.” She’d managed to hold back her tears until that point. Ophelia kissed him with everything she had then. 

 

He took her to walk on the grounds, going through the slate courtyards, the garden, and the greenhouse as the sun was setting. They stopped at the reservoir, an attractive pair in their matching caramel leather jackets and jeans. 

 

“How’d you get free rein of the house?” Her question had been niggling at her since the beginning of the tour. 

 

“They’re _Outlander_ fans, and they live mainly in London as of late,” Sam replied.  

 

“How long have you been talking to them?” Ophelia asked, peering at him suspiciously.

 

He smiled slyly, slinging an arm around her shoulders and hearing the leather stick. “Oh, about 4 months…”  

 

“You little sneak,” she exclaimed, slapping his now rock solid abdomen. The remark, good natured in that moment, made him tense as he thought back to Prague. Sam kissed the top of her head and squeezed her shoulder, placing himself back into the moment with her.

 

“I was trying to prove that I can still surprise you, hen.”

 

“Mission accomplished,” Ophelia laughed, bussing his cheek. 

 

“So do you want it?” Sam asked like he was asking what she wanted for dinner that night. 

 

“Sam, this would be a big commitment…” She could be practical to a fault at times.

 

Sam tilted her chin up with a gentle forefinger. “But do you want it? That’s all I want to know.”

 

“Of course I want it, Sam. I can see our children running and playing out here… and me in the kitchen, you being a general nuisance… and me writing my case notes in the study, you being a generally affectionate nuisance…”

 

“I would love to be a nuisance to you and our children in this house. I would like to buy it for us.” He cupped her jaw, his vibrant blue gaze urging her to take a leap of faith with him.

 

“Sam… please let me contribute. This is **a lot** of property.” 

 

“Can I take care of you in this way for just this moment?” He smoothed his thumbs over her cheeks. “Please, Lia.”

 

She gulped, “Can I help with the mortgage?”

 

“Ophelia… our house, our money either way. I want to buy it outright. We’re both well-invested, we’ll not want for anything.” There was no gamble here, but he felt like the 23 year old he’d been when he’d asked her to believe in him. “Let me make this investment in us. Let me buy us someplace to bring our bairns home to.” His voice was thick with sentiment, the rolling cadence washing over her. 

 

“Yes,” Ophelia said simply, smiling when she watched him pause. He had been ready to do more convincing. She laughed at his temporarily gobsmacked expression and kissed it away.

 

“You’ve made me so happy,” Sam sighed against her lips. “I have another question for you,” he announced, taking both of her hands and dropping to one knee. 

 

“Sam!” She had waited for this moment for what seemed like forever, and now it was here, her knees were weak and her heart was racing. 

 

“Ophelia St. James, love of my life, keeper of my heart, my hen, my belter of a gal, my bonnie lass, my cannie woman, my hame, my American lady, my Trinidadian queen… There’s no one I love quite so much as you. There’s nothing I am feart of quite so much as losing you.” Sam swallowed and cleared his throat, shifting on his knee as he reached for the ring box. 

 

“I know I’m a nuisance. I know you could do much, much better. I know for sure that all I want is you. I know you are the mother of my bairns. I know that the day isn’t complete and the sun doesn’t quite shine if you’re not in it. I also know I’ve been proper slow about it, but you are the only woman I see my life with and it’s been that way a very long time… If you’ll have this humble Scottish lad, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”  

 

Ophelia perched on his knee, kissing him long and slow. One of his hands still dwarfed the gilt-edged leather ring box while the other clutched her waist. “I love you,” she murmured against his mouth, before kissing him even slower. 

 

“I’m not hearing the one word I really need right now,” he teased, though the fear was stark in his gaze. 

 

“Oh, baby, of course. Yes, Sam, yes, I will marry you.” She gasped when she finally looked down at the ring.

 

He teased incredulously, “You didn’t even look at it?” 

 

“The love of my life was saying the words I’ve been waiting years and years to hear him say. You thought waiting for my yes was bad,” she teased. “I didn’t care about the ring, I cared about you.”

 

“I love you so much, Ophelia.”

 

“I love you, too, Samwise. Now get that gorgeous thing on my finger.” She wiggled the digit in question and he slipped it on with a reverence that took her breath away. He kissed her hand, the tip of his nose brushing across her knuckles. It fit perfectly. “Did you measure my finger in my sleep or something?”

 

“No… Lia, I swear, this ring just called to me. I saw it and I couldn’t get you out of my head. It was made for you.” He’d been entranced. 

 

“Sam, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I will cherish it, this moment, and you forever. I can’t wait to be your wife. In fact, I was getting ready to ask you.” The brilliance of her smile made him feel lighter than air. He rose to embrace her properly and touched his lips to hers. Sam caught the petite missile that was Ophelia with a chuckle. 

 

He smoothed a large hand over her back, his azure gaze locked onto her chestnut. “So, Mrs. Heughan, can we go home?”

 

“Which one,” she retorted cheekily.  

 

“The one we actually own.”

 

Ophelia leaned in close to whisper, “I don’t think we can make it that far.”

 

“Lia,” he laughed, his breath huffing onto her cheek. “You’ll be the death of me.”

 

“Don’t die before the wedding. I think here’s good.” After a bit of maneuvering, they sank onto the grass, unaware of anything but each other. “I really, really love you, Sam.” 

 

“I really, really love you, too, Lia. And I plan on loving you the rest of my life.” The stars had begun to twinkle overhead, the water lit by the emerging moon. He wanted them to have that staying power. 


	12. Taking Chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Lia take a leap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is by Celine Dion.
> 
> Obvious creative license here with the timeline, set roughly in the spring of 2015. Sorry for the wait, guys!

Sam went back to Prague three days after the engagement, three days in which they had crammed a month’s worth of lovemaking and a week’s worth of phone calls to friends and family. He’d left Ophelia spent in their bed, waking her briefly to say goodbye before his trip to the airport. ‘Briefly’ had morphed into her tumbling him onto the bed, laughing against the shell of his ear for underestimating her strength. They had the quickest sex of their life, and he was in Prague before the goofy grin was wiped off his face. 

 

One cast and crew luncheon and two weeks of shooting later, Sam was back to Scotland and his engagement was known to his colleagues. He was glad he’d spoken to both of their families before he’d proposed. He’d Skyped Carmela and Nigel separately, and talked to his parents and brother together. His family had been extremely supportive, and he swore he heard relief in his mother’s voice. Carmela, always a second mother to him, had been ecstatic. Nigel, as per usual, had expected the worst of him. 

 

_“Did you get my sister pregnant and call to give me a heads up?” It had been a long time since Sam had entertained thoughts of laying hands on the shorter man, but he would be lying if he said it didn’t occur to him that instant._

_“I called to let you know that I’ve spoken to your mother and I plan on asking Ophelia to marry me when I get back to Scotland.” Squinted eyes were all that Sam received in response, and he opened his mouth to plead his case. “Listen, Ni, I know you’re not my biggest fan––”_

 

_“It’s not that I’m not your biggest fan, it’s that you’ve hurt my sister and you could up and do it again. Who’s to say you won’t?” Nigel put on his best enforcer face, setting his mouth in a firm line._

 

_“I’m saying that I won’t. I’m in this for life, I always was, but she needs this to know that and so do I.” Sam sighed heavily, hoping Nigel sensed his sincerity. “It would mean a lot to me if you could be good about this.”_

 

_“Are you asking for my blessing?” Nigel shuffled some papers around on his desk, looking as disinterested as he could muster. Sometimes the man’s similarities to his sister were deeply unsettling._

 

 _“I’m not, she’s an adult, a woman full grown.” Sam sighed again, touching a hand to his mouth while the other pushed his hair back. “But the sentiment would be the same. All I want is for you to support this, support_ **_us_ ** _.”_

 

_He saw a grudging glimmer of respect come into Nigel’s gaze on the screen._

 

_Nigel conceded, “Alright.”_

 

_“I don’t want to fight with you, we love the same woman.”_

 

_“I said ‘Alright,’ Sam.” Nigel slipped his papers into a folder and straightened his lapels. “Hurry up and ask her. You’re the only man she wants.”_

 

_“Nigel?”_

 

_“What? I have work to do.”_

 

_“Thank you. Say hello to Monica and the children for me, please.”_

 

_“You got it… brother.” Nigel grinned before cutting off the call._

 

Ophelia’s beaming face as he slipped the ring on her finger floated in front of his mind’s eye, followed closely by Caitriona’s face when he’d announced his engagement. He’d recognized her expression instantly; instantaneous, ephemeral longing mingled with regret and total relief. The emotions had flittered over her face in rapid succession before carefully being replaced with a mask of secondhand joy. “ _Are we out of the woods yet,”_ he asked no one in particular as he tapped a cardboard box chock-full of memories. The show wouldn’t be shooting in Prague again. Their next location was in Wiltshire in the south of England, an hour and a half’s flight from home. As the weather continued to warm, they would be shooting outdoor scenes. It comforted him greatly to know that he would be a breath away from her again. He had a bit of time off before the cast would be embarking on the promotional tour for their mid-season premiere. 

 

They were using his reprieve to prepare for their big move. They’d closed on the house in Newton Mearns in record time. Their offer had been accepted without much negotiation. He heard the snick of the lock and the jingling of Ophelia’s keys before she pushed through the front door of their Clyde Street flat, mildly impeded by the marks of a life together. 

 

“Someone’s been busy,” she commented, glancing around before stepping into Sam’s warm embrace. 

 

Sam mumbled, “I have.” He kissed her slowly and deeply, relishing her little sigh and the way her arms stretched up around his neck. Taking two handfuls of her bottom, he hoisted her up. Ophelia yelped quietly, maneuvering her heels off with skill from where her ankles were locked on his behind. “I ordered us some takeaway, you get comfortable. I’m going to move these boxes somewhere less obstructive.”

 

“You’re the best,” Ophelia practically moaned. “What did you get?”

 

“Italian,” he answered, unzipping her dress without having to be asked. A shower was always the first thing on her mind when she got home. 

 

“Can we just elope, I’m madly in love with you.” Sam’s gaze flickered to the stack of bridal magazines on the coffee table, and Ophelia laughed. 

 

“I love you, too. Now go,” he ordered, dropping a kiss on her temple before delivering a swat to her behind. 

 

Fifteen minutes later, Sam had moved the boxes and set the table for the two of them. Ophelia wandered in, wearing another Fight Camp shirt without much underneath. Her scent called to him and he couldn’t resist pressing a quick kiss to her neck. Ophelia’s ring twinkled under the soft lights of the candles he’d lit, the glow dancing over the gold and diamonds. She watched him as he dished out their dinner, smiling at his clear concentration. Sam grabbed a bottle of wine, giving it an odd look she didn’t quite understand, and served it. When he finally sat down after all of that ceremony, he looked over at her. He touched his mouth, and she knew he was gearing up for something.

 

“Not that this isn’t lovely, but what are you up to, Samwise? I’m not sure I can take anymore surprises.”  She felt her arms rise to embrace herself protectively and consciously pushed them back down. 

 

“Can’t I just be enjoying my cheat day?” He took her left hand across the table and kissed it. 

 

“Sam, I know you,” Ophelia laughed.

 

“Okay, okay, you’ve got me,” Sam conceded, shooting her another look. “You’re a queer woman, ye ken that? Can’t simply enjoy the romance.” 

 

“You love me for it. Now state your business, my love.” She scooted forward until she was close enough to prop her feet on his lap. He wrapped one arm around her knee and the other around one of the legs of the chair to bring her even closer. 

 

Sam exhaled before beginning. “You know I have to be in New York for the Outlander promo things next month, right?”

 

“Yes, we planned the move around it, what’s up?” She reached forward to push an unruly hank of hair behind his ear. 

 

“How would you feel about coming with me?” He looked at her expectantly, and her heart stuttered.

 

“Well, I really enjoy that aspect of our relationship, don’t you?” Sam didn’t respond with a smile or mild annoyance, and she knew he was deathly earnest. 

 

“Hen, I’m being serious with you. I mean coming with me… publicly,” he elucidated. 

 

“You want to go public?” Ophelia cocked her head to the side in bemusement. “Were we hiding?”

 

“Not hiding per se, but we’re certainly not common knowledge. We’re going to be married before we know it. This is pretty much the only real relationship I’ve ever had and I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but it’s lasted a while,” he teased, chucking her chin.

 

“My patients…” She was hesitant about asking for more coverage and a few of her patients were nearing term. 

 

“It’s one more week, you have colleagues you trust. Consider it a visit home. I think it will be good for us.”

 

“I’m in,” Ophelia declared. Her conviction gave him a start, but he was happy to hear it. “But you know… this could blow up our lives.”

 

“We’re going to be a hard to find, boring couple because we’re stable. Paparazzi don’t like stable. And I’m pure done in with having to lie to everyone and their mother when I pretend I’m single. I’m happy. With you. And I want us to do this on our own terms. They can’t blow anything up unless we let them.” 

 

“I mean put us on a world stage, I’m not worried about **us**.” Ophelia leaned forward to press her mouth to his. He felt the slide of her ring against his palm as she took his hand. “I’ll come. I’ll need clothes, right? How do these things even work?”

 

“We’ll meet with my stylist––”

 

“I don’t think I realized quite how big you are now until this moment. You have a stylist,” she laughed. “Oh, baby, you made it.”

 

He blushed a bit as he cupped her cheek, resting his broad forehead against hers. “It’s early days yet, St. James.”

 

She closed her eyes, the lids feeling suddenly burdensome. “No, I feel it. It’s only up from here.” Peeking up at him through heavy lashes with glittering chestnut eyes, she asked, “So we’re really doing this?”

 

“We’re doing this.”

 

“Do you think our food’s cold?” Sam’s throaty chuckle warmed her like a good whisky.


	13. Are We Ready To Be Swept Off Our Feet?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Lia gear up for the spotlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics come from "Every Breaking Wave" by U2 (from that album everyone bitched about getting for free).

They put the Clyde Street apartment on the market and moved into their new house before they left for New York. Now Ophelia was being poked, prodded, and primped as she prepared to walk the red carpet with Sam. He had announced that he was engaged to his longtime partner on the SiriusXM radio show they’d been on that morning. The public would catch their first glimpse of her tonight. 

 

She’d been poured into a black Christopher Kane sheath dress, the designer chosen as a nod to the show’s and Sam’s Scottish roots. Multicolored mesh inserts fringed the neckline and bodice of the dress, and a high asymmetric vent crept up her thigh. Electric blue, thin strapped high heeled sandals, a stack of gold bangles, and her favorite gold earrings completed the ensemble; however, her engagement ring was the star of the outfit. Her long hair had been swept back from her face, center parted, brushed, and set with flexirods. When released, long spiral curls trailed down her back. The makeup artist had transformed her face, giving her a light smoky eye she could never have done at home, a bold red lip, and a perfect highlight. She was excited to stand next to Sam. 

 

His suit was a blue tinged grey and his tie was a silky midnight creation. The color of the suit animated his eyes. Sam was superbly tailored, well-groomed, smelling good, and a tad jittery. He sprang to his feet from the couch as Ophelia entered the room, landing on the balls of his feet like a cat. 

 

“You look––” they began simultaneously. They hesitated as they both began again; Ophelia tittered nervously and covered her mouth, surprised that particular sound had come from her. She gestured at him to speak. 

 

Sam cleared his throat, suddenly choked with emotion. “You look stunning, hen, absolutely stunning. I’ll be the luckiest man there. I **am** the luckiest man anywhere.” 

 

“And you look so handsome, Sam. I’ll be the envy of the world. I completely understand the Heughligans.” She sauntered towards him, her eyes smoldering as she touched his lapel. “ _So_ sexy, Mr. Heughan.”

 

“Even sexier, Mrs. Heughan,” Sam retorted, grinning down at her as he took her into his arms. “And you know about the Heughligans?” A full, secretive smile was all he got in return.

 

“Soon.” Ophelia brushed the tip of her nose against his, not wanting to get her lipstick on him. “How does May sound?”

 

He lifted a brow in query, a crooked smile settling on his lips. “We’re setting a date?” 

 

“We’re setting a date. What do you think?” She leaned back, catching his gaze.

 

“I think May is perfect.” Sam dropped a quick, loving peck on her lips. “I think I would show up if you told me it was in January in the Arctic Circle.” The delicious roll of his R’s sent a shiver down Ophelia’s spine. “If May’s what you want, May’s what you’ll get.” A short knock on the door preceded the entrance of his publicist. 

 

 “Let’s do this, baby,” Sam bent to whisper in Ophelia’s ear before pivoting to face Lucy Hatfield with a wide smile. She was a hyperactive little blonde who clipped her words out at three times a normal rate. “Come to fetch us? And they gave you a key?”

 

“Yes and yes, and thank God you’re ready to go. You two are the only ones running on time apparently.” She hadn’t even looked up from her phone as she furiously typed out orders. When she finally did look up, her eyebrows lifted in pleasant shock. “Ooh, you two look so hot. You’re going to photograph so well. Why didn’t you tell me to warn the costars, Ophelia? Let’s walk.”

 

“Thanks, I think,” Ophelia laughed, squeezing Sam’s hand as she grabbed her clutch. They came to a stop at the elevator, and she rocked up onto the balls of her feet to whisper, “I thought I was late.” Even though she was in 5 inch heels, she was still a good bit shorter than Sam.  

 

“So did I,” he murmured back. She always admired the way he could talk out of the side of his mouth; his lips twisted very attractively, even though the subtlety of the action was often lost in the process.  

 

Ophelia ventured a quick glance in Lucy’s direction. “Is she always this frenetic?” Sam dipped his head and tugged her closer, his hipbone digging into the soft flesh of her stomach. 

 

“So are you ready?” Lucy rounded on them with a too-bright smile. “Don’t answer any questions, Ophelia.” Her crisp central London accent made Ophelia stand up a bit straighter. It was like she was a first year intern and Lucy was an attending she was desperate to impress. 

 

“What if they ask me–––” Ophelia was cut off by both Lucy and the elevator’s arrival.

 

“They’ve already put you under a microscope. E! knows that you’re a physician in Scotland that was born and raised in New York. They know you’re Ivy League. What they don’t know is how long you’ve been together, and I marketed Sam as a single heartthrob.” Lucy cut her eyes as Sam over her smartphone.

 

“Well, shouldn’t we just tell them? I never lied, I just was vague. Won’t they keep digging till they know?”

 

“They have a short attention span. This continuing press blitz is all you have to get through. Then you two can go home and live your lives. If you would let me, I could sell the romance.”

 

“We don’t want that. She has a career, a practice.” Sam squeezed Ophelia’s hand. “She’s very much a private citizen and she deserves to keep that.” 

 

“News flash, you both aren’t private citizens; however, I respect her career and I respect your wishes.” Lucy looked them over one more time. “It would be a very cute story, though. Just saying.” 

 

“Lucy,” Sam started with a sigh. 

 

“I already said I would be on my best behavior.” Cerulean eyes wide with feigned innocence met his. Her phone pinged suddenly and she was engrossed once more. “Ooh, looks like Cait’s nearly ready. Okay, your guard is waiting for us in the lobby and he’ll take you to your car. Good luck.” The air hadn’t finished vibrating with her last word when the elevator came to a stop. Suddenly Sam and Ophelia found themselves at a precipice, looking down into the great unknown.

 

“I love you,” Ophelia whispered, gripping Sam’s hand steadily. 

 

Sam lifted her other hand to his mouth, kissing her engagement ring with quiet reverence. “I love you, too.”

 

"Feet on the ground, as Chrissie would say." Chrissie, Sam's mother, often called each of them to give her favorite reminder. 

 

"Feet on the ground," Sam echoed, giving her hand a quick pulse.

 

They walked through the lobby and towards their vehicle unmolested, no doubt thanks to the 6’6” slab of muscle that was their bodyguard. Lucy’s colleague, Alice, handled Caitriona’s press, but she’d had to stay at their LA offices dealing with another client’s fallout. So Lucy, along with two underlings and an intern, was responsible for the two stars of Outlander on this outing. She couldn’t help but notice that some of the easiness between them that made them so marketable had been lost. She didn’t dwell on it as she contemplated dragging Caitriona from her suite. Lucy watched Ophelia and Sam in her periphery as the driver closed the door behind them. It would be an interesting evening, interesting and long.


	14. Falling Slowly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little throwback

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is written by Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova.

_2003_

 

_“Are you stalking me?” The soft, rolling burr of Sam’s accent washed over Ophelia as he whispered in her ear from behind. Ophelia barely flinched, knowing exactly who was at her back without sight. The chill of the outdoors wrapped its tendrils around her as he moved closer. The tall blond hadn’t left her thoughts since they’d met. She’d given him her number and had never answered any of his calls._

 

_“Now why would I be doing a silly thing like that?” She felt her long, thick hair being nosed aside._

 

_“You’re in my bar on a Wednesday evening at the perfect time to witness the shift change. And this is the West Side, in case you haven’t noticed.” Her medical school was on the Upper East Side and her home was in Brooklyn._

 

_“I know you’re not trying to teach me New York geography.” She finally swiveled 180 degrees, her knees coming to rest against his from her perch. Her short black sweater dress left them bare, ignoring her sheer black stockings. Black boots with a wicked heel came to stop just below them._

 

_“Ah, touché.” His lips quirked in an attractive sardonic smile. Hell, she found everything about him attractive. That was dangerous. Sam cleared his throat and crowded her, leaning into her space. “This still doesn’t explain your presence in this particular bar on this particular evening at this particular time. You haven’t answered my calls, Ophelia. Why?”_

 

_“Ophelia!” An impeccably dressed shorter man oozing confidence strode into the bar, moving through the gradually thickening after-work crowd. Their location in Midtown West meant that their clientele consisted mainly of financiers and corporate lawyers, who typically only surfaced from their lairs after 7. Ophelia remained fixed by Sam’s stare. Her craned neck did not turn an inch in the direction of the man calling her name._

 

_“Why?” Sam repeated, inching forward just a bit. He grinned as her breath hitched and her knees parted._

 

_“Is he bothering you?” The man with all of the bravado was upon them and wrapping a protective, possessive arm around Ophelia’s shoulders. “Do you normally harass women half your size?”_

 

_“Nigel, it’s okay,” she murmured, still entranced by Sam’s unmoving stare as he pushed off from the bar. Immediately she missed his intrusion of her bubble. “He’s not bothering me.”_

 

_In a flash, Sam’s genial nature took over and where he was brooding before, he now resembled nothing so much as a happy puppy. “I’m Sam. Ophelia, I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”_

 

_Ophelia snorted and threw the last of her beer back. “He’s––”_

 

_“I’m Nigel. Please step away from the lady.”_

 

_“Hey, no harm meant.” Sam's grin was as disarming as ever._

 

 _“This is Nigel. My_ **_brother_** _.” Now that Sam looked again, he could see they shared their eyes and coloring. “He’s an asshole. I’ll call you back, I promise.”_

 

_Sam took her hand and pressed it to his mouth so gently she wondered if she was imagining it. She felt like she was weightless. He disappeared into a back room and then rounded the bar. After a brief chat with the bartender who had been on duty, he began his work with a wink in her direction. People of all genders gravitated towards him. He was charismatic, efficient, and handsome._

 

_“Who was that guy?” Nigel asked, a hint of laughter in his voice, as he perched on the barstool next to his sister. Ophelia jumped and ran her thumb over the knuckles Sam had kissed._

 

_“Sam,” she answered dazedly._

 

_“Well, duh, I know he’s Sam, he said as much. But who is he to you? How do you know each other?”_

 

_She dismissed him. “He’s just some guy.” Some guy she couldn’t take her eyes off. Behind the bar, Sam reached for something on a high shelf. His black t-shirt crept up to reveal a band of perfect skin. His jeans pulled taut over his butt, and she was struck by the sudden desire to touch. It pulsed through her, centering somewhere low in her belly._

 

 _“He must be_ **_some guy_ ** _to reduce you to the gooey puddle of warm and fuzzy feelings you are right now.”_

 

_“Shut up, Nigel.” The retort was without heat and, again, Nigel wondered just who this man was._

 

_The rest of the evening was an exercise in self-control for Ophelia. If she let her concentration slip, she would have images of crawling across the bar and begging Sam to take her. He treated her like every other patron, but she would catch his heated glances. When Nigel decided to call it a night, she stayed planted. She wanted him._

 

_Sam wiped down the counter as the last patron, excepting Ophelia, departed. He avoided her gaze as he went about his routine._

 

_“So is this your second job,” Ophelia blurted, desperate for him to look at her. She had never been needy._

 

_“It is,” he said nonchalantly, propping chairs on tables._

 

_She gulped, watching the poetry in motion that was Sam. “So you’re still working in SoHo?”_

 

_“I am.”_

 

_“Is this your regular shift?”_

 

_“Nae,” he answered before vanishing briefly into the backroom. He came back with his things and left them on the end of the bar._

 

_Ophelia snapped, “Could you look at me?”_

 

_Sam sauntered towards her, lazily tilting her chin up. “Here’s to looking at you.” He leaned forward and kissed her, featherlight and sweet. Her hands rested on his sides, sliding higher and closer together as he deepened the kiss. She purred as his hands cupped her jaw. Then, as quickly as it began, it was over._

 

_He touched the tip of his nose to hers and smiled as her eyes crossed looking at the connection. “Are you going to call me?”_

 

_“Yes.”_

 

_“Well, that wasn’t so hard,” he laughed, pulling her to stand and leaning in for another slow kiss. She knew it wouldn’t be hard, not hard at all, to fall in love with him._


	15. My Heart Is Yours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is the Justin Nozuka song.
> 
> Sorry for the wait, my life was falling apart!

The red carpet was a blur to Ophelia. People hurled so many questions at them, she felt as though she was dodging hail. She’d done her best to ignore them, choosing instead to grip Sam’s hand just a bit harder and stand just a bit closer. He’d responded in kind, holding her tighter and leaning down to whisper disarming commentary on the proceedings. Eventually the spouses and partners were pulled aside to let the cast walk individually and together. The majority of Sam’s interviews were done there. Sam and Caitriona took a bevy of photos, looking like a perfect Hollywood couple. Caitriona glowed in her primrose gown. The contrast between it and her pale skin was stunning. They suited each other exceptionally. 

 

“They look good together, they’re photogenic, but you two look like you belong,” the woman next to her remarked. The beautiful brunette was maybe an inch or two taller than her in bare feet, but she also wore sky high heels. “I’m Gwen.” It was a relief to see someone normal sized on the red carpet who wasn’t Diana Gabaldon. “We haven’t met. I’m Graham’s wife.” 

 

Just like that, she’d made a friend. When he answered questions about her on the red carpet, he was careful not to tell them anything they didn’t already know. Watching Sam shine on screen brought her to tears. After what seemed like an endless after-party, they were finally on their way back to their hotel. The sky’s murkiness told her that they were in such deep night that they were on the cusp of dawn. Sam exhaled so heavily it seemed like he had been holding his breath all night.

 

The leather creaked under Ophelia as she angled herself to face Sam. His hair was still annoyingly perfect and his suit was still pristinely pressed. His exhaustion encroached on the corners of his eyes, his normally invisible crows feet deep. The lights of the city flashed through the tinted glass of the windows and highlighted the faint lines around his mouth. She cupped his cheek and he allowed himself to rest for a moment. Just like that, she could see the boy he was and the man he’d become in one stunning flash. Her heart turned over in her chest at the pure trust in that small gesture. 

 

“Sam, you were phenomenal. Staggering. Moving. I don’t have the words to describe how proud I am of you. Every time I see you, you wow me.” She paused, falling into the brilliance of his blue eyes. “I want you to know how much I love you and how speechless watching you on that screen left me. You **glow.** Thank you so much for making me a part of this.”

 

“Lia…” Sam shifted uneasily under the praise, wiggling in his seat. A passing thumb over his cheekbone settled him. 

 

“Let me finish, baby.” She gentled him with a brush of her lips. “There’s so much I haven’t said. I know there have been times where I’ve seemed cold or unsupportive. I think I was… afraid. What I saw on that screen, Sam? I’ve always seen it; I knew it was a matter of time. And I’m still afraid, but I know that I want to hold onto you for the rest of my life. I was scared tonight and then you made a silly comment about pizza, of all things, and I felt pure tranquility wash over me.” Ophelia grinned at him, thumbing the cleft in his chin. “Sam, I don’t want a life without you. I don’t want you to feel like there are parts of your reality that you can’t share with me, all because I’m afraid or removed or doing doctor shit.” 

 

Ophelia pressed her forehead to his, the broad expanse still cool with the spring night’s air. Her freshened lipstick shone deep red even in the relative darkness of the car. Sam’s eyes drifted downwards to her mouth as she spoke, the color reminding him of a full sangria. He swayed towards her, drunk on her presence and on her words. “All of this is part of your life; I don’t want to just be your fiancee, I want to be a life partner in every sense of the word. I know you’ve always thought of me that way, but please forgive me, I didn’t keep up the way I should have. I promise you that I will work on being the best possible life partner to you that I can be. I will evolve and be more attentive and **keep up**.”

 

Sam was stunned to tears at her vehement words, leaning forward to capture her in a kiss so vivid Ophelia saw stars. The soft smile he sent her way, the one he reserved just for her, warmed her to her toes. A familiar glint came into his eye as he laid a possessive hand on her knee, long digits walking upwards. Warm breath fanned over her face as he leaned closer, one hand finding its way into her hair while the other toyed with the vent in her dress. Sam was helpless against the surge of possessiveness he felt as Ophelia’s ring twinkled in the headlights of a passing taxi. The air evacuated his lungs at the touch of her hand on his sudden erection. He lifted her neatly and seated her on his lap, their mouths plastered together with an urgency that didn’t eliminate tenderness. Sam was struggling with her tight dress when they felt the car slow. 

 

They straightened their clothes as they waited for the driver to circle the vehicle. Sam grinned at Ophelia’s heavy lids and the hungry gleam in her chestnut eyes. Two raps against the door were their sole warning. Sam buttoned his suit jacket and let his long legs swing to the pavement, ducking instinctively as he rose to his feet. Turning before the driver, he extended his hand to Ophelia, shielding her exit from anyone who might have been hoping for an upskirt shot. There were only a few paparazzi present, but he still tensed as he heard the whirr of shutters. He was impressed by their dedication. Ophelia shot him a grin that was as sexy as it was reassuring and he ushered her in front of him. They entered the lobby, and Sam heard her exhale in relief. 

 

With a quick goodnight to the concierge and the night manager, they made it to the elevator bank unmolested. “How do you do it,” Ophelia asked quietly, sagging against the solidness of him. A possessive hand settled on her behind.

 

“That was nothing, you were at the photo call. I can’t fathom what could be interesting about us walking into a hotel or me going to a particular café, so I try to remember that their assignment is probably almost as hellish as being photographed eating a scone.” He quirked an eyebrow, and she laughed, wrapping her arm around his waist. 

 

A fairly nondescript middle-aged woman was approaching the elevator bank. Politeness made both Sam and Ophelia smile faintly, and Sam prayed the woman wouldn’t take it as an invitation to converse. “I’m sorry, excuse me, I’m a huge fan of the show. And the books, of course. I came for the premiere tonight, actually. Would you mind taking a picture with me? I’m sure you’re tired and––”

 

“Oh, sure,” Sam replied with no trace of a grimace as an elevator came and went behind him. Ophelia felt his body straighten as he turned himself on again. “What’s your name?”

 

“Charlotte, but everyone calls me Charlie,” she babbled, as she came in closer to pose. Ophelia laughed inwardly at the woman’s clear love of, and lust for, Sam. Charlie’s face was flushed and she trembled a bit as Sam put his arm around her.

 

Ophelia volunteered, “I’ll take it.” The woman smiled gratefully as she handed over the newest iPhone. Ophelia took three pictures and handed the phone back to the fan. Another elevator arrived and Charlie graciously ushered them into it, offering them congratulations on their engagement as an afterthought. Sam hauled Ophelia up against his body before the elevator doors had closed. 

 

“Fucking in the lift would be too obvious, correct?” The question was uttered against her neck before his tongue did wicked things to the sensitive skin there. 

 

“Correct,” Ophelia gasped as she felt his erection nudge her belly. “This has to be the slowest elevat–– ooh,” she breathed as he tugged the zipper running down her spine. She felt the climate controlled air hit her overheated back as Sam bent her nearly backwards to kiss the exposed skin. Her skilled hands fumbled as they searched for purchase on Sam’s body. Her fingers scrabbled over his collar before finally interlacing at the nape of his neck. He hoisted her suddenly as the elevator came to a stop on the 54th floor. She heard the rent of her dress as she hiked her legs around his hips and couldn’t bring herself to care. All she could think about was having him inside her. 

 

As he tapped his key against the door, she busied herself with biting and kissing the skin available to her. She didn’t notice the smooth slide of the door like she had that morning. The Taipan Suite at the Mandarin Oriental could have been a tenement for all that she was aware of it. All that mattered to her was the slide of Sam’s palms and the feel of his lips as he stripped them both. On the hallway floor of their suite, they made love like their lives depended on it. Ophelia marveled at the firmness of Sam’s chest and the pounding of his heart under her ear. Something in the way they made love felt brand new, but the familiarity of their bodies allowed them to shed the layer of discomfort that normally accompanied novelty. They had turned a corner.

 


	16. Stand By Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from the Ben E. King classic.

Things had remained largely normal in the wake of the public reveal of her engagement to Scotland’s hottest new actor; the key was that Scotland wasn’t that impressed. A few Fleet Street strays had followed them around in the city the first few days they were back in town, but the interested had tapered off quickly just as Sam had promised. Sam often spent nights away from their brand new home filming in the South of England, but it was never for longer than a couple of days. Her work life was the same as it always been, minus the bone deep fatigue she’d been unable to shake since their return from New York. Evenings when Sam wasn’t home, she found herself exhausted but too restless to go home. 

 

One such night, Ophelia cursed as she heard neat footsteps click down the hall and come to a stop outside of her door. She had assumed at close to 9pm she would be almost totally alone in the office. It had been that way for the last month. Hastily, Ophelia closed the file on her desk. A cursory knock didn’t give her enough time to put it in her drawer before Dr. Heather MacLean entered her inner sanctum. Her office was all creams and blues, fashionable and normally quite soothing. Today it felt like the walls were closing in on her. Heather, her closest friend at the practice, eyed her suspiciously as she took a seat without invitation.

 

“You did everything perfectly today, but you still weren’t you.” Heather was a flawless physician and her aesthetic matched. Even after an over 12 hour day, not one of her chestnut hairs were out of place, her makeup was still intact, and her mind was sharp as ever. She had big chocolate eyes that could pin you in place or embrace you on a whim. When they’d met at a conference in Boston years earlier, these qualities had attracted Ophelia like a moth to a flame. Heather had made it her mission to lure her to Scotland, only amplifying her efforts once she’d found out about Sam’s heritage. A few years her senior, she’d become her closest friend and a sort of mentor upon her move. The nights when Sam was away were filled with Heather or medical journals; Heather was always the more vibrant option. 

 

Heather clapped loudly, drawing her attention back to the moment at hand and more literally to the chart she still clutched. “You didn’t want to hold that baby today.” A patient whose birth she’d helped guide had come for a postpartum exam and had brought her perfectly adorable baby boy with her for a quick visit. Ophelia glanced at the wall of pictures of each baby she’d ever delivered and felt her heart squeeze. “What’s going on, St. James? Medical mistake? Leave a sponge in someone? You’re not being terribly subtle with that file…and aren’t you digitized?”

 

Ophelia narrowed her eyes at Heather, resenting her for being all that was perfect in that moment. “Dr. MacLean, I do not leave sponges in people. It’s –– it’s my chart, okay?”

 

Heather burst out into helpless laughter. “Why are you hiding your own chart? Come to think of it, who do you see here?”

 

“No one,” Ophelia muttered, feeling heat suffuse her face as embarrassment enveloped her. 

 

“I’m sorry, what do you mean no one?” Heather’s brow furrowed, ageless and unblemished but conveying her meaning quite clearly.

 

“I mean I haven’t seen anyone since I got the flu that time I was in New York for the holidays…”

 

“You mean three years ago? You haven’t seen a doctor in **_three years_**?” Ophelia shook her head imperceptibly and Heather scoffed. “Tell me you’ve at least been getting gynecological––”

 

Ophelia mumbled, “I mean I really haven’t been to a doctor since that time I got sick.”

 

“I know they say doctors are bad, but my God, Ophelia!” Ophelia would have laughed at the incredulity in her voice had it not been directed her way. 

 

“I goofed, I know, I get it, Heather,” she replied, rolling her eyes and smoothing her lab coat. Her fingers ran over the stitching of her name and she felt like a fraud. “I fucked up.”

 

“Don’t you have a Mirena?” 

 

“Yes, I check the strings every month, I’m not that bad.” She shifted in her seat as what she’d discovered in her in chart flashed across her mind like a marquee. 

 

“Okay, we’re getting you an exam now. I would look at my chart at horror, too.” Heather shook her head, her eyes drifting heavenwards as she pushed her chair backwards. 

 

“That’s just it, Heather.”

 

“What’s it?”

 

“The Mirena.” Ophelia steeled herself for the judgment she knew was coming. 

 

“What about the Mirena?”

 

“You know…”

 

“Darling, I think I’ve made it quite clear **_I don’t know_** _._ ” 

 

“It’s been almost eight years.”

 

“It’s been almost eight years…” Heather repeated dumbly, turning over what she’d heard in her mind. She turned on Ophelia with wide eyes. “It’s been almost eight years?” 

 

Ophelia just nodded before the pressure that had been building behind her eyes tumbled forth in a cascade. She swiped furiously at her tears, seemingly unable to stem the tide and certainly unable to catch them at the rate they fell. Heather rounded the desk and took her into an embrace. Ophelia’s mind was a series of recriminations and fears. Somewhere in that soup was a kernel of hope. 

 

When Ophelia’s breathing settled, Heather asked, “So you think…?”

 

“I know. In New York. Something is telling me. It just felt… different. I feel different.”

 

“Do you want to find out for sure?” 

 

“I do.”

 

“Then we have some things to discuss.” Heather MacLean, doctor extraordinaire, was on the case, and Ophelia knew she –– no, they –– would be okay. There was no one she trusted more.

 

She found herself on the other side of it all, thankfully lukewarm gel squirted onto her still flat midsection in an artificially brightened room. All of the sparkly drapes and beautiful countertops in the world didn’t make up for the fact that it did feel a bit like being under a specimen under a microscope. She had no one’s hand to hold as Heather moved the transducer over her abdomen. She gasped as Heather tilted the screen to show her a perfectly formed 8 week old fetus that had been conceived against all odds. Her beringed left hand hovered above the transducer, suspended in awe. 

 

Ophelia asked quietly as her eyes brimmed, “Can I hear the heartbeat?” 

 

“I love you, Ophelia, and as your doctor, yes, you probably can hear the heartbeat; as your doctor **_and_** your friend, I would say don’t listen to the heartbeat. We should remove that IUD and you know what the risks are. You should talk to Sam when he gets home and figure out what you want to do.” 

 

“Heather, I can’t help but feel like this…fetus can survive anything. I don’t want to tell Sam, though, if something’s going to happen.” She bit at her lip and twisted her ring around her finger. “I don’t want to throw him off.”

 

“Did you just hear yourself?” She removed the transducer and cleaned off Ophelia’s stomach, effectively blocking her request. 

 

“Heather…”

 

“I’m sorry, I normally ace the nonjudgmental portion of the health provider exam, but listen here, you wee baggage.” Ophelia cracked a smile as her friend’s accent broadened. “As your friend, I think you should fill your partner of forever years in, and if I know Sam like I think I know Sam, he’s going to want to hold your hand. This conception **was** against the odds, and if things continue like this, you may very well be looking at your future. You’re a geriatric prego with an IUD, go figure. I think he deserves to know everything because he’s half of that future. Lean on him. He has broad shoulders.” 

 

As Heather closed up shop, she righted her clothes and her mind drifted to the child they’d never had. A sense of shame niggled at her as she remembered the immense relief she’d felt. She’d reached for her phone as she’d been rocked by cramps in the bathroom of their local Starbucks. She’d never dialed his number. She’d waited until he left for his performance to cry. Things were different now. They were older and stronger. She would find a time to speak to him. She just had to do it in between their family descending on them for their engagement party and his next jaunt to Wiltshire.


	17. Knocks Me Off My Feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ophelia and Sam celebrate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is by Stevie Wonder.
> 
> Y'all, life has knocked me off my feet the last year or so, but I'm hopefully back!

The night of the engagement celebration cum housewarming, paper lanterns shone overhead and the rich fragrance of roses spiced the unusually warm night air. It was nearly summer, but Ophelia had come to learn that meant next to nothing in Scotland. During their time in New York, Ophelia had chosen Monica as her maid of honor. Heather stood nearby, a silent force at her back and Monica’s Scottish counterpart. Sam had chosen Círdan as his best man. As older brother straightened little brother’s tie, a sudden gravitas permeated the occasion. It wasn’t startling, it just made its presence known like temperature. So far, Monica, Círdan, and Heather’s first accomplishment together was looking impeccable and bringing them one step closer to a wedding. 

 

“Are you ready for this?” Sam’s azure eyes caressed her almost palpably. Her stomach clenched as he took her hand and she swayed into him. 

 

“I’m with you, of course I’m ready.” Ophelia was stunning in her indigo wrap dress, and Sam’s heart squeezed at the sight of her. He was incredibly sharp in his own navy blue jacket and kilt, and, not for the first time, Ophelia was astonished by his beauty. 

 

“You two are so absurdly attractive it should be illegal,” Heather huffed, stepping in front of them. “Are you actually ready to see the fruits of our **_extensive, endless_** labor?” 

 

“She’s so charming. Isn’t she charming, Círdan?” Monica’s eyes twinkled as her hand rested high on the curve of her bump, and the large man laughed. 

 

“Let’s go announce them.” There was Círdan’s soothing baritone, then they were alone. 

 

Sam whispered against the shell of her ear, “It’s only up from here, Mrs. Heughan.” His eyes drifted towards the open French doors and he pecked her. “That’s our cue.”  

 

Sam took Ophelia’s hand before they stepped into what had once been known as their backyard. Twinkling fairy lights illuminated the night, complementing the stars above. The space had been transformed; three whisky tasting stations and three separate bars topped by sprays of chaconia, Trinidad’s national flower, complete with menus of personalized cocktails formed a loose semi circle. Off to one side, four steel pannists stood at the ready, playing Stevie Wonder’s “Knocks Me Off My Feet” at their entrance. On the other side, a full buffet featured an eclectic mix of their favorite foods. Ophelia was suddenly ravenous and she smiled at the twinge low in her abdomen. 

 

They allowed themselves to be transported into a world that was all theirs. A multitude of faces wished them well, becoming a blur after some time. Ophelia made a special point of greeting Sam’s cast and crew members. She knew these were his other family and would be for at least the next 5 years or so, if not a lifetime. Ron and Terry’s reassuringly married presence made her smile. Sam kissed a pale Caitriona on her cheek. Cait trembled slightly in Ophelia’s arms as she took her into an embrace while Sam greeted his co-star’s new boyfriend. Releasing Cait, Ophelia rocked up against Sam’s body, sliding her hand around his torso and down his back to fit into his waistband. He leaned down to peck her, absentmindedly closing a finely honed arm around her shoulders as other guests approached. Monica rescued them to shuttle them around the party and make sure they drank and ate. 

 

Before they knew it, their magical night was over. The caterers were beginning to pack up and break down, everyone else had gone, and all the fairy lights had been extinguished. The guests had left with highball glasses engraved with their initials and messages in a bottle featuring their favorite quotes. Preparing for bed, Ophelia felt a potent sense of optimism rise in her. It was real. It was finally happening for them.

 

“That was a perfect evening. Everything was thoughtful and beautiful,” Ophelia remarked as she tumbled onto the mattress. Her jewelry jangled as she hit its surface. She’d managed to strip to her underwear before exhaustion came knocking. 

 

Sam snorted and replied, “Beautiful and tiring. Are ye well?” He came to sit on his side of the bed, ignoring that she was sprawled across both halves, and took her feet into his hands. 

 

“Well enough.” Sam began to knead her soles with strong, sure fingers. He had learned well after 12 years. “Ooh, that feels so good… I’m tired and nauseous, I guess.”

 

“You’re nauseous?” Her iron stomach was the stuff of legend and if she was feeling nauseous, he was dreading whatever food poisoning he was in for. “Was it the salmon? It was probably the salmon. God, don’t let it have been the salmon.”

 

Ophelia giggled at his slight panic and said in her airiest tone, “Oh, it’s nothing December won’t fix.” She waited for her response to click.

 

He frowned, taking her other foot. “Ye plan on being sick till Dec–– oh.” His jaw went a little slack.

 

“Oh,” she echoed. Ophelia scooted closer, her foot still held captive as she moved forward using his shoulders.

 

“When?” Sam, for once, was at a loss for words. Her hand sunk into his wavy hair, lifting tresses that were fading slowly into blond. 

 

“New York,” she answered, laying her chin on his sturdy shoulder and looking up into his face.

 

“In the––”

 

“Yes.” She bit her lip nervously and skimmed her hand over the back of his neck. 

 

“My God…” A slow, wicked grin spread across his face, and Ophelia smiled and hid her face against him.

 

Her hands came up to wrap around his bicep. “Mhm…” 

 

“So you mean to tell me I’m going to be a dad?” His thoughts flitted about like startled butterflies and he latched onto the slowest one. 

 

“You are going to be a dad.”

 

“I’m going to be a dad.” His grip on her foot tightened as his smile broadened to impossible dimensions. Something in him shifted and settled. A sense of belonging fixed on him like a mantle, binding him to the moment and closer to her.

 

“You’re going to be a dad,” she laughed. 

 

He clarified, “A real live child?”

 

She lifted her face quickly, her gaze finding his incredulously. “Well, hopefully not a puppy.”

 

“Oh, Lia…” He kissed her swiftly, and she smiled against his mouth. He released her feet and sat her sideways in his lap.

 

“Mhm…” She returned her head to his shoulder, his aroma and sturdiness comforting to her. 

 

“We’re going to be parents,” Sam announced seriously, a chuckle escaping in the aftermath.  

 

“We are. A little Heughan. St. James-Heughan.” His hand came to rest on her abdomen and he tried to picture their child. All he knew was that they would be gorgeous and maddeningly precocious if they were anything like their mother. And he sincerely hoped they were.

 

“Whatever name you want. I love you so much. This has been the best night of my life, behind meeting you.” Parts of the last few weeks began to make more sense to him and he nuzzled her contentedly. “That’s why you didn’t want to send out the save the dates.”

 

“That’s why,” she confirmed, inclining her head to receive his kiss. Absentmindedly, he began removing her jewelry.

 

“Lia, we’re not kids. We’re adults with lots of love to give this baby, a wonderful home, and stable work. We could go to town and marry at the registry office and I’d be ecstatic.” Sam reached behind himself to turn down the bed before rising and placing her in the sheets. Joining her after he’d outed the lights, he took her into an embrace. Her head notched under his chin and she sprawled atop him.

 

“Sam,” she queried, her voice minuscule against the lavish backdrop of the night. 

 

“Hmmm?” His chest rumbled beneath her ear and he kissed the top of her head. 

 

“I’m scared.” Ophelia exhaled and spoke in a rush, “I still have my IUD, this is really a little bit of a miracle and a little bit of stupidity, and it has to be removed. And there’s a chance I could lose the pregnancy.”

 

Sam took a deep breath and girded himself against that potential pain. “Okay. I don’t think that will happen. I have a really good feeling about this. But I’d like to come hold your hand, if you’ll let me.”

 

“Sam?” She sat up, using his chest for leverage. Her curls fell around their faces as she leaned forward to kiss him deeply. “You can hold my hand forever.” 


	18. We Are Fine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song by Sharon Van Etten
> 
> I started a new (amazing) job at the end of February, so life has been EXTRA full. Enjoy this!

“So that’s it.” Heather snapped her gloves off and tossed them into the safety bin. “I’m going to keep you here for a bit, then you can go home. Stay in bed as much as possible for the next two days and get lots of rest, I know they’re not synonymous for you. I don’t want to see you for a week. Sam, love, you hold her to it.” She gave them a reassuring smile as she shut the procedure room door, firmly professional. 

 

Sam kissed Ophelia’s knuckles, catching her gaze across them as he rose.

 

“Lia?” She immediately understood the thousand questions in his eyes and she smiled faintly. He squeezed her hand, preempting a false mustering of courage. He saw her shoulders drop, and she leaned back.

 

“I’m alright. Now we wait, I guess.” She exhaled in a long whoosh, tears stinging the back of her eyes. “Fuck, I’m terrified and I know the odds are decent but I…”

 

“But you worry. Of course you worry. And you think you always have to be strong. I’m here. I love you. I can’t tell you anything you don’t know about this except that I’m here and I’m not moving. This is not…” He stopped to collect his thoughts, bracing his forehead against her hand before returning her gaze. “It’s not worrying you need to do all by yourself. I’m not running to a theatre or a set, I’m here with you. And I always am, even when my body isn’t.” Those wildly emotive blue eyes of his conveyed a sense of security and love only he could give her. 

 

She wrapped her left hand over their joint fingers, her engagement ring bright under the necessarily harsher lighting of the procedure room. Sam leaned forward to take her in the sweetest of kisses. 

 

Two hours later, Ophelia found herself in her own bed, feeling almost completely unaware of getting there. She glanced around the room for Sam and reached for her phone. At that moment, he came through the door bearing a tray full of food. 

 

“Hello, hen. How are you feeling?” He perched at the edge of the bed, waiting for her to settle herself before placing the tray on her lap. Sam tucked a thick hank of kinky-curly hair behind her ear and took the opportunity to caress her cheek. She leaned into the touch, the warmth of his palm feeling like home. 

 

“Scared. Starving. I feel ridiculous, I would be telling a patient that worrying is **not** going to help and how slim the odds of something going wrong are.”

 

“I know, baby.” He held a glass of water to her lips. He was scared, too. It was the type of fear that made you feel dyspeptic and like you were standing at the edge of an abyss.“Do you know what you need?” 

 

Lia closed her eyes and grimaced. “Our baby?” Sam’s stomach flipped as he watched her tuck into a bacon butty made according to her specifications. Mayo and brown sauce on one half, pepper sauce on the other, no lettuce, spinach instead. In the time between hearing the news and the procedure, he’d realized their baby was what he wanted more than just about anything. It was a gnawing desire that had been lurking in the background of their life –– the scenery of careers, earning potential, transatlantic moves, breakups, and reunions. Someone who was a little bit of her, a little bit of him, and a lot of whoever they wanted to be. Maybe they’d like their sandwiches the same way. 

 

“Obviously. But right now, you need an Ice Cream Movie,” Sam decreed, watching her smile form before she noticed. Her peals of laughter shook the tray before she bit her lip to stifle it. 

 

“You’re brilliant, have I ever told you that?” She reached for him, fingers sinking into his still overlong hair, and bussed his lips noisily. “Bring on the Ice Cream Movies.” 

 

Their very first complete Auntie and Uncle long weekend with Carmen had involved a cornucopia of what the then 3 year old had deemed Ice Cream Movies for reasons that were still unclear. They were all feel-good, a little romantic, definitely funny, and normally involved some sort of princess – much of which went over Carmen’s head but she laughed anyway. Sam scrolled through their saved OnDemand picks and flickered his gaze over to Lia. She hated having too many choices, so he narrowed them down to two. 

 

“So what’s it feel like today? A _13 Going on 30_ day or _Princess Diaries_?”

 

Ophelia sighed and tilted her head as she considered her options. “Totally a _Princess Diaries_ day. I need fluff.” 

 

“Agreed. I’m going to go grab some popcorn.” He rose, kissing her forehead before turning to leave the room. 

 

Lia considered his retreating back, her eyes lingering on his perfect ass. She was distracted, but she had priorities. “How can we watch an Ice Cream Movie with no ice cream?!”

 

Sam held up a long fingered hand but did not stop. “You finish that tray and I swear to you on all things Mia Thermopolis that I will bring you whatever ice cream you want.”

 

“Deal,” she called after him. “I love you.” 

 

“I _adore_ you.” His voice echoed from somewhere halfway down the steps. Ophelia leaned back against her pillows and grinned. 


	19. Best Part

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback because I'm wicked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song by Daniel Caesar and H.E.R.

_ 2007 _

_ It had been 3 months since they’d spoken. And here she was standing at LAX. Here they went again. She flipped a braid over her shoulder and prayed. Out of a crappy little Subaru came all six feet and change of Sam, and Ophelia exhaled. His eyes crinkled with warmth, their color made slightly flat by anxiety.  _

 

_ “Hi,” Ophelia breathed. She’d wanted to sound stronger when she met him. She wanted to be more composed. She’d prepared a speech on the plane, but this was what always happened. He took her breath away and scrambled her mind. She could admit that was sometimes the thing she needed most.  _

 

_ “Hi.” He stepped close and snagged her duffel, and she had to crane her neck to look into his eyes. The anxiety swelled and deflated as he tried to figure out how to greet her. Sam cupped her cheek and lowered his head to touch his lips to hers. This was the woman he loved. This was the woman he’d discovered he didn’t want to live without. This was the woman he needed to spend the rest of his life with. This was a decision he hadn’t known he’d made. This was present and future. This was everything. This was not assured and could easily be crushed, like anything delicate, with one word from her. This was a precipice, and yet this was the safest he’d ever been. This was uncertainty and this was love.  _

 

_ But she had come. She had come. It was her smooth cheek under his hand, the curve familiar but sharper than he’d remembered. It was her body swaying towards his. This he was sure of, **this** he **knew**.  _

 

_ Sam captured Ophelia’s gaze, butterscotch hued and half-languid despite the rushing traffic and noise surrounding them. This was her, still in love with him. He took her hand and led her to the car, handing her into the front seat and shoving her duffel into the backseat. He pulled back into the stream of traffic and her hand found his on the console. They returned to his still spartan apartment. His roommate was on set somewhere in the desert. He had 6 months in L.A. under his belt and not tons to show for it, but he’d survive, he always did. He prayed to find his place in the sun daily.  _

 

_ Ophelia trailed behind him as he brought her bag into his bedroom.  _

 

_ “Bathroom’s down the hall, I’ll be out on the sofa tonight, we can go out to grab a bite in a moment if you’d like, or you can rest––“ _

 

_ He turned to face her and suddenly had his hands full of petite woman and his lips occupied. Fingers grasped and clawed until they were naked. Sam kissed Ophelia deep and slow. His hands roamed, unable to stop moving or trembling. She threw her arms and legs around him, tightening their clasp until she was able to flip him onto his back. She slid onto him without warning, the pleasure-pain of it making her gasp and dig into his shoulders. He held her hips in a bruising grip to steel himself against orgasm as an all-encompassing sense of relief took hold. _

 

_ Sam groaned, “Jesus fuck.” Ophelia’s throaty laugh in response had filled his dreams for months, colored his nights. The laughter was soon replaced by the sounds of her wetness, his breath, their flesh, their screams, and their joy.  _

 

_ Sunlight dappled the room, casting spotlights and shadows on their bodies as they rested. Ophelia rose onto her knees to dot kisses across Sam’s body. She pushed her fingers through his dark blond hair. She found herself overwhelmed not for the first time. _

 

_ “You’re not sleeping on the sofa,” she whispered against his lips.  _

 

_ He teased, “Oh, good, I didn’t want to be presumptuous.” Periwinkle eyes sparkled with mirth as he wrapped his arms around her tighter.  _

 

_ She pushed her arms underneath his neck, crossing her arms to cradle his head. “I’m so in love with you and it’s the scariest thing I’ve ever felt.” _

 

_ “I’m sorry I left.” He ran the tip of his nose down the length of hers and kissed her slowly. _

 

_ “Don’t be sorry.” The aftermath of his departure had, she now realized, been a bracing wake up call. She had no idea how he felt about it. “I’m sorry I couldn’t follow.” _

 

_ “Don’t be sorry.” He squeezed her waist as he said it, underscoring his point. “Can we agree that we need to be together, even when we’re apart? Because I’m so far gone on you that I don’t think I can get me tadger up with anyone else.” _

 

_ “Romantic. But yes. Let’s not try that again.” Lia laughed, though she was deadly serious. _

 

_ “Let’s not. Do you want romantic?” Sam pulled back to maintain eye contact. Ophelia had a halo of frizz around her bound hair, and striking images of angels, saints, and martyrs danced through his mind. “Every time it happens, I wonder how. I know it’s us driving it and I know where I belong, but I wonder how. You are the first person I look to tell my news to, you’re the only person I want to listen bang around the room at 5am, and you are the only person who makes me feel a foot taller just by being near. I love **you**. Only you. And it’s not a passing thing.”  _

 

_ “I said the same thing to Monica, I never know how it happens. I only know that it’s not right. I **do** love you, like I’ve never loved anyone else.” Her nails dug into the pillow beneath his head, raising him a quarter of an inch. “You're everything to me. I know I would survive without you, but I want to live with you. You are just so free, your spirit is so light. You're just beautiful. I think I hold myself back... I get scared to love you as much as I do because I’m afraid that one day it’s going to happen again. And we’ll know how. And we won’t be able to get over it.” _

 

_ Sam sighed, “We have to want to.” _

 

_ “I want to,” Ophelia declared, pressing her lips to his. “I want to.”  _


End file.
